


Courage and Cappuccinos

by intrikeyt



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intrikeyt/pseuds/intrikeyt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil Palmer is planning a podcast that is going to take the world by storm. Carlos is the oh-so handsome and oh-so perfect science major working at Cecil's favorite coffee shop. Dana plays matchmaker, and Steve Carlsberg is a jerk but not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this Tumblr post](http://little-night-vale-things.tumblr.com/post/66435692257/if-were-going-to-be-taken-seriously-as-a-fandom).
> 
> I present my very own Night Vale coffee shop AU. 
> 
> Also, I need a beta. *puppy dog eyes* Anyone willing to volunteer?

Aside perhaps from Recording Studio A in the Communication Arts building, where he discovered he had a talent for radio broadcasting, Night Vale is Cecil Palmer's favorite place in the whole wide world.

Night Vale is a tiny coffee shop at the corner of Earl and Somerset, just around the corner from the Starbucks, so it's always fairly empty. But Cecil likes it this way. It's quieter, which means he can actually get some work done. The music being piped over the PA system isn’t that crappy generic jazz elevator music stuff. He doesn't have to worry about being in the background of yet  _ another _ Instagram photo. 

And best of all, he almost always has Carlos all to himself.

Carlos Herrera is the barista who works the afternoon shift on Tuesdays to Fridays, and the night shift on Saturdays. Cecil met him entirely by chance late one Saturday night (or early Sunday morning, if one were to get picky) when he was jolted awake by a phone call at a little past midnight.

"Hi, is this Cecil Palmer?" a crisp tenor voice spoke. "I have here a very drunk Dana Marshall," the voice continued, once Cecil answered in the affirmative, "and she gave me this number and said to call her roommate. I assume that's you?"

Worry for Dana had spurred Cecil to drive as fast as he could to the coffee shop, where he fervently thanked the barista for not throwing her out and tried, while struggling to get his very wasted roommate into the car, to press some money into the man's hand. He refused to accept it, to which Cecil replied, while buckling Dana into the front seat, "Can I at least get your name?"

The barista flashed the whitest, brightest grin Cecil had ever seen and said, "It's Carlos."

The next morning, Cecil went back to Night Vale, bought a the biggest size of the most expensive drink they had on the menu, and stuffed a practically indecent amount of cash into the tip jar, resolutely ignoring Carlos's protests.

"You're cool," Carlos said, while making Cecil's extra large peppermint java mocha frappe. "Weird, but cool."

Cecil's been coming to Night Vale ever since.

It's his twentieth time to come in this month (not that he's counting). Cecil steps inside, casts a quick glance at the counter, and sees Carlos with a customer. Carlos meets his eyes and mouths 'just a minute'. Cecil smiles back and goes to his usual table in the corner, a tiny one-chair space that Carlos has once teasingly offered to mark with Cecil's name.

Cecil does not blush at the memory of Carlos's friendly ribbing, he does  _ not _ .

He begins laying out his books and his laptop on the table while waiting for Carlos to finish up. He has a paper to do, a ten-page single-spaced nightmare on media law for his terror prof, but he finds that he cannot concentrate. He's sitting with his back to the counter, but he can imagine Carlos flitting from the cash register to the coffee machine, bestowing that brilliant smile on other customers, long, slender fingers expertly whipping up a perfect cup of coffee. Despairingly, Cecil closes his eyes and slumps forward.

He is, he decides, completely pathetic.

But he can't help it. Carlos is the first guy he's liked,  _ really _ liked, in a long while, and Cecil probably knows his view of Carlos has skipped rose-tinted and gone straight to bright red, but Carlos is--there really is no other word for it-- _ perfect _ . He has smooth dark skin and dark hair and large wire-rimmed glasses that would look pretentious and hippy on anyone else, but just makes Carlos look even smarter than he is. Which isn't to say that Carlos  _ isn't _ smart, he is, he's plenty smart. Cecil knows that Carlos is double-majoring in Biology and Physics and that he's on a fast-track to a grad school scholarship and that he's in talks with NASA, and sometimes when Carlos is on break he sits at Cecil's table and loudly discourses on the pros and cons of working for the government versus privately-funded labs, and Cecil has to try very hard not to just lean over and kiss him.

"Hi Cecil," Carlos says from behind him. Cecil reminds himself not to act like an overexcited puppy, but it's hard to maintain his composed façade when he turns and sees Carlos standing there, in jeans and a black shirt underneath a pristine white apron, carrying a tray that holds a large cappuccino and a strawberry Belgian waffle. "I got your usual," Carlos adds, placing the coffee and the pastry on the table next to Cecil's laptop. "Mind if I join you? I need a break anyway."

"Sure," Cecil replies, privately thinking that Carlos could ask him to pirouette in a tutu in the middle of the street and he'd say yes. He takes the coffee and notices, his heart skipping a beat, the little doodle Carlos always puts on his drinks: a little cartoon Cecil with three eyes and tentacles, next to his name scrawled in big black loopy letters. It's ridiculous. Carlos always puts this little drawings on Cecil's coffee cups, and Cecil always melts at the sight of them like a big gooey marshmallow.

"So what's new?" Carlos asks as he settles into the chair opposite Cecil's. "Did they okay your radio thing yet?"

_ He remembered, he remembered! _ Cecil's brain gleefully cries. Just last week Cecil shared with Carlos his idea for a new project, a horror-themed podcast presented as a radio show for a fictional town where strange things were seen as totally normal. He got some friends on board and together they wrote a letter to the student affairs office outlining their plan and requesting use of Recording Studio A. It strangely means a lot to Cecil that Carlos asked after their progress, even if he knows he's probably just doing it to be polite. "We gave the letter to the dean's secretary yesterday. Honestly, I'm kind of surprised you remembered," Cecil admits.

"Don't sell yourself short, Cecil, it sounds like interesting stuff," Carlos replies. "Very  _ Courage the Cowardly Dog _ . Real cool." 

Cecil wrinkles his nose. "I'd prefer to compare it to Lovecraft or Stephen King, but thanks."

"No way.  _ Courage the Cowardly Dog _ was really, really creepy," Carlos insists. "Like I don't know even know what twisted mind thought that show would be appropriate for children." He holds up his arms, hooks his fingers into claws, and moans, " _ Retuuuuurn the slaaaaaaaab. _ "

Cecil just looks at him blankly, lost.

Carlos's eyes widens. "You've never seen that episode?"

"I've never seen the show, period."

"Oh, no way!" Carlos exclaims. "I can't let you go through the rest of life having never seen  _ Courage the Cowardly Dog _ . I torrented all the episodes."

Cecil holds his breath, unwilling to believe that Carlos is about to ask him to come over.

"If you've got an external drive or a USB I could give you a copy."

Cecil exhales quietly, disappointed, but also relieved. He's not sure that he won't spontaneously combust if Carlos invites him back to his place, so there's that.

The tiny ping of the bell on the counter interrupts the moment, letting Carlos know that a customer is waiting. He sighs and checks his watch. "Looks like my break is over," he says. "But hey, I was serious about being interested in your show. Let me know if you need any help with it," he adds over his shoulder as he heads back to the counter.

Cecil stays a little longer, not wanting it to look like he only goes to Night Vale for Carlos's company (even though that's totally the reason, although the coffee and pastries are pretty good). He works on his paper a little bit, dicks around on the Internet, but mostly thinks about Carlos. Sweet, perfect, beautiful Carlos, who knows exactly how much caramel Cecil likes in his lattes, who sprinkles just the right amount of cinnamon and brown sugar on Cecil's waffle. Carlos who thinks Cecil's radio show is a cool idea and who wants him to watch  _ Courage the Cowardly Dog. _

_ Yep, _ Cecil thinks, as he puts away his things and waves goodbye to Carlos,  _  I am truly, truly pathetic. _

 

The house Cecil shares with Dana is tiny, they practically trip over each other every day, but it's home. It's a two-bedroom bungalow with a kitchen that doubles as a dining room, one bathroom, and a living room. It smells constantly of spices and butter and garlic frying because Dana loves to cook, and it's never quiet because Cecil's always listening to some podcast or another, or downloading music, or editing videos. Dana's and Cecil's mothers pool their resources every semester to send the two a giant care package composed completely of cleaning materials, along with no-nonsense instructions on how to use each one, because both their children are terrible housekeepers. However, Dana's mother has threatened to have her younger brother room with them when he goes to college next year if they don't keep the house clean, so they've improved somewhat in that department.

When Cecil gets home from Night Vale, Dana is sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by boxes of discount Christmas decorations, looking utterly lost. "Help?" she says feebly, when Cecil shakes his head at her.

"I can't believe you started without me," Cecil grumbles, dropping his books and backpack onto the couch.

"I haven't technically  _ started _ ," says Dana miserably. "I unpacked everything about an hour ago and I've been sitting here since. I have no idea what to do."

"Ugh. Move over, peasant." Cecil sits down on the floor next to Dana and nudges her aside. "You should have called me," he says, separating the branches of their fake tree and grouping them according to size.

Dana rolls her eyes. "Please. I didn't want to interrupt your lovey-dovey alone time with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scientific."

Cecil flushes. "It was  _ not _ lovey-dovey alone time," he protests.

"Yeah, more like lovey-dovey stalker hour." Dana snickers. "Honestly, Cecil, why can't you just ask for his number like the rest of us normal people do?"

"Because someone as beautiful and perfect as Carlos probably already has a girlfriend or a boyfriend," says Cecil mournfully, arranging the tiny plastic branches that go on the top of the tree in neat rows. "Or maybe both." He frowns. "Maybe he's poly." Not that he has anything against poly people, most definitely not, but the thought of sharing Carlos--

_ Stop right there, _ Cecil tells himself furiously. The phrase 'sharing Carlos' implies that Cecil owns him in anyway, and fills him with giddy, illogical hope that he'd rather not feel.

"And maybe he's got it bad for wannabe radio announcers with low self-esteem and a serious stalker complex," says Dana mildly. "I got poinsettias! Fake ones though." She opens a box and shows Cecil several bright red plastic and fabric flowers.

"I'm serious though," Dana insists, when they've got all the decorations sorted out. Cecil is surveying the room with a critical eye, determining what goes where. "It's been a month since you guys met - thanks to me - ”

“ - thanks to your drunken shenanigans, you mean."

“ - and all that flirting and back-and-forthing has  _ got _ to mean something!" Dana throws her hands up in frustration. "He gives you free coffee and waffles, Cece!"

"I bet he gives free coffee and waffles to all his friends. And he does not flirt with me."

“Please, like putting little doodles on your coffee cups and sitting with you on his breaks isn’t flirting.” Dana rolls her eyes. “It’s so cute I just may puke.”

“Shut up, Dana.”

"What did you guys talk about today?"

"The podcast.”

Dana grins. "Yeah? What did he say?"

Cecil knows he'll regret this later, but he can't help it. He’s practically over the moon at the thought that Carlos is actually interested in his work. "He says he thinks it's a really cool idea," he confesses. "He said to let him know if we need any help on it."

"That was  _ practically _ him asking you out!" Dana shrieks, throwing a poinsettia at Cecil. "What else, what  _ else? _ "

"You're reading too much into things," says Cecil nonchalantly, although his inner schoolgirl is shrieking just as loud - if not louder - than Dana. "Get those garlands and the plastic holly berries, we'll start with the windows."

" _ Cecil Gershwin Palmer. _ "

Cecil cringes, the way he always does when Dana uses his whole name like that. He's pretty sure she learned how to do that from his mother. "What?" he asks, annoyed.

"There's something you're not telling me."

“Dana.”

“ _ Cecil _ .”

Cecil sighs. "He said our idea reminds him of  _ Courage the Cowardly Dog. _ And then I said I'd never seen the series. So he said he's got all the episodes and he'll give me the copies sometime."

Dana's big wide smile, when it comes, is near blinding. "Oh,  _ Cecil _ ," she coos. "That's so  _ sweet _ . See, I told you he's got a thing for you!"

"Christ, Dana, will you chill out? He's giving me a series he wants me to watch, he's not proposing."

"No, but giving another person a series or a movie you think they should watch is like the subtlest way  _ ever  _ to tell said other person that you're sorta kinda into them," says Dana knowledgeably. "It opens up avenues of further conversation in the future, and opportunities for inviting over to your place for 'movie marathons'." She drops the green garland she's holding and does air quotes. "And by 'movie marathon', I mean 'sexy times'," she clarifies, just in case Cecil didn't get it.

"You're a pig."

"Aw, I love you too."   
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Sorry for the late update. I had some real life stuff going on. Work is crazy, school is even crazier, and I had some other personal issues that needed to be sorted out. But no worries! Writing is my stress reliever so as long as there's serious crap that needs to be fixed there shall be chapter updates. Lol. :P
> 
> Anyway, I'm still looking for a beta! Preferably someone who's open to discussing plot and continuity and such, and not just grammar and spelling. And it would be great if you feel okay with bouncing ideas back and forth as well. :) But the best thing would be if you used copious smileys in your e-mails! Hahaha no I kid, but seriously, if you're interested in beta-ing for me, hit me up. :)
> 
> My e-mail is thelightsabovearbys@yahoo.com.ph, or check me out on Tumblr at [thelightsabovearbys](http://thelightsabovearbys.tumblr.com). I'm friendly and will follow back!
> 
> Anyway, enough with my rambling! On to the chapter. :D

After waiting an appropriate length of time (so as not to appear too much like a stalker, he is  _ not _ despite what Dana says), Cecil goes back to Night Vale, armed with his laptop and a USB Dana lent him. He’s actually not too interested in watching episodes of  _ Courage the Cowardly Dog _ , but if Carlos thinks it’s worth checking out, he will. Plus, it might give him a few ideas for the podcast which, among other things, does not have a title yet.

_ Which reminds me, _ Cecil thinks,  _ I should check to see if the dean got our letter. _ He thinks of asking Carlos to come with him to the student affairs office, then blushes and junks the idea.  _ Carlos has better things to do, _ he scolds himself. He’ll just have to settle for his usual cappuccino, Belgian waffle, and half an hour of Carlos’s company.

But when he gets to to the coffee shop, he finds it closed. Surprised and disappointed, he turns to leave, but a voice calling out his name stops him dead in his tracks.

“Hey, Cecil!”

Cecil turns again and sees Carlos stepping out of Night Vale, bundled against the cold in a big black coat and a bright orange scarf. He pauses to lock the door, then jogs up to Cecil. “The shop’s closed for today,” he says. “I got a text from the manager. Everyone’s got the flu.” A smirk crosses his lips. “Not me though, I’m strong as an ox.”

“I’m sure,” says Cecil weakly, shying away from the images the phrase ‘strong as an ox’ conjure up. 

“So anyway, I’m free as a bird,” Carlos continues, spreading his hands, “and I don’t have class until this afternoon. Wanna hang out?”

Cecil thanks all the gods above and below that he’s imagined this moment  _ so _ many times that his response - a smooth, yet still delighted, “Sure!”, accompanied by a welcoming smile that is  _ just _ the right mix of friendly and flirty - has been ingrained into his body. Otherwise, who knows how many minutes he would have stood there, staring at Carlos, mouth agape. 

It doesn't bear thinking about.

“Great,” says Carlos, slinging an arm around Cecil’s shoulders, and Cecil has to try really hard not to expire of sheer, utter happiness. “So, where you off to on this fine, fine day?”

“School. I was gonna check to see if the dean got our letter.” Cecil swallows nervously and, against his better judgment, adds, “You could come if you want? I mean, you don’t have to, I know you said you wanna hang out, but if you wanna do something else - ”

“Hey Cecil, no big.” Carlos laughs. “We can do that. I told you I wanna help out with the show, didn’t I? Let’s go!” He looks around. “Where’s your car?”

“Dana borrowed it last night.” Cecil wrinkles his nose. “She hasn’t returned it yet.”

“Your roommate, right? The one who came in all drunk and wasted when we first met?” Carlos smiles. “I haven’t seen her since. Doesn’t she like coffee?”

“Nah, more like she’s too embarrassed to show her face around you ever again. But not embarrassed enough to take my car with nary a by your leave, apparently.” Cecil sighs exasperatedly. “Sometimes I think the car is conjugal property or something. Like, I’ll just wake up with a Post-It stuck to my forehead saying ‘Hi Cece, borrowed the car for the day, love you!’”

“You guys dating or something?” Carlos asks, innocently enough. Were he the type to analyze and re-analyze a crush’s actions, Cecil would have inwardly rejoiced and thought,  _ This is it, he’s fishing to see if I’m single _ . But he’s not, so he doesn’t. He’ll leave that to Dana.

“No, just really close friends.” Cecil frowns at Carlos’s disbelieving expression. “Really. We went to high school together. She’s like my sister.”

Carlos nods, then asks how far they’ve gotten on the podcast. Cecil tries not to ramble, but he can’t help it and goes on and on about the scripts, and voice casting, and how many episodes they’ve planned so far, and Dana’s demands that at least one of the characters be named after her. Carlos, for his part, is an attentive listener, asking questions and offering insights and, when Cecil describes the character he’s going to name after Dana, asking whether another character could maybe be named Carlos.

“I’ll think about it,” Cecil answers with a teasing smile. 

Carlos pouts. “Not fair.” He bats his eyelashes flirtatiously. “I’ll give you  _ two _ free cappuccinos whenever you come over. And extra syrup on your waffle.”

“Hush, vile temptress.” Cecil pauses. “Or is that tempter?”

“Temptress sounds better.” Carlos puts his face closer to Cecil’s and waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Cecil is so thankful to see that they’ve come up to the student affairs building, because he knows that a moment longer and he will have kissed Carlos full on the mouth.

“Well, here we are,” he says. “Do you want to come up with me or would you rather wait down here?”

“I’ll wait down here,” Carlos replies. “The dean’s secretary doesn’t like me much.” He shudders.

“Who, Ms. Josie?” Cecil frowns. “But she’s really nice!”   


“She didn’t take so kindly to me and a couple guys from the biology department accidentally setting free a cage of lab rats in the office,” says Carlos sheepishly. “Ever since then every form I’ve ever filed--requisition reports for lab equipment, or chemicals, just that sort of thing--has taken forever to sort out. I’m pretty sure if she sees you with me, you’ll never get your podcast off the ground.” 

“Okay,” says Cecil, throwing Carlos one last smile before entering the building. On the way up to the dean’s office, Cecil thinks about how, on the long walk over, Carlos never took his arm from around his shoulders, and tries not to squeal.

An hour later Cecil comes barrelling down the steps with a huge grin on his face and throws himself into Carlos’s arms.

“The dean okayed our request!” he crows, triumphantly waving a piece of paper in the air, the dean’s signature clearly visible on the bottom. “We can use the recording studio. The podcast is a-go!”

Carlos smiles back and plays along, swinging Cecil around in a short circle before letting him down. “That’s great,” he enthuses, clearly unaware of the way Cecil’s heart has begun a steady tattooing rhythm on the inside of his ribcage, because  _ holy shit he just threw himself into Carlos’s arms and Carlos swung him around and oh my god, oh my god, oh my  _ **_god_ ** .

“Great,” repeats Cecil faintly. “So...um…” He pauses, curses himself, and tries again. “I’m gonna meet up with Vithia and the others?”  _ Can I get anymore high school? Goddammit Cecil! Pull yourself together! _ “The people I’m working on the podcast with,” he clarifies, happy to hear the distinct lack of a question mark at the end of his sentence. “I’m gonna tell them about--uh - this,” - he waves the approval letter - ”and we’re gonna talk a little, scripts and sound equipment. That kinda thing. It’s gonna be boring. But you can come...um, if you want to.”

“I’d love to,” Carlos replies warmly, sincerely.

“You would? Neat!” Cecil exclaims, before slapping a hand over his mouth.  _ Oh crap. _ “I did not just say that.”

Carlos smirks. “You totally did.” He lightly bumps Cecil’s cheek with his knuckles. “Don’t worry about it, it’s kinda cute.”

Cecil’s inner schoolgirl  _ dies _ .

“So,” Carlos continues, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back and forth on his heels, “where to now?”

“Um, Vithia’s place. We’re gonna have to take a cab though, it’s kinda far.”

“Oh? We can take my bike then,” says Carlos casually, and Cecil’s heart stops

“Your  _ what? _ ”

 

Dana Marshall has many traits that make her the perfect political science major. She’s an avid coffee-drinker, an avid beer-drinker, she’s loud-mouthed and opinionated, and she carries a chip on her shoulder the size of the whole continental U.S. because she’s biracial and dark-skinned and a woman and a product of a single-parent household and her mother was an immigrant. 

But above all, she is not a morning person.

Cecil knows this. Cecil has been on the receiving end of many a slap upside the head because he dared to breach the sanctity of her room before ten AM. 

She is  _ especially _ not a morning person when she got laid the night before, and her date’s bed is nice and warm and comfy and much larger than hers, and it’s a Friday morning and she doesn’t have classes on Fridays and she was  _ so _ looking forward to sleeping in.

Yet it appears that Cecil has not learned his lesson, because her phone lets out an annoyingly cheerful series of beeps, and when she reaches out a hand, grabs it, and spies Cecil’s name, she has to restrain herself from throwing it at the wall. Rolling her eyes, she sits up and reads the message.

**_HE HAS A MOTORBIKE DANA A MOTORBIKE_ **

Dear god, the boy has it bad.  **_So he’s got this bad boy thing going on too. Big whoop. Where you off to on this motorbike of his?_ **

A couple seconds pass by before Cecil’s reply arrives.  **_Vithia’s. Got the approval letter from the dean. We’re on!_ **

**_JESUS FUCK CECE YOU COULD HAVE MENTIONED THIS BEFORE WAXING POETIC ABOUT CARLOS’S MOTORBIKE_ ** **,** Dana manages to reply, before leaping out of bed and rushing to the shower. She comes out ten minutes later, dresses in the jeans from last night and a t-shirt she steals from her date’s closet, and leaves a note on his dresser.

_ Hey Steve, I had to jet. Important project. I had a great time last night. :) - Dana  _

She pauses, then scribbles her phone number underneath her name followed by a postscript.  _ P.S. - I borrowed a shirt. Call me. xx _

 

 

She drives Cecil’s car to Vithia’s place, a great honking townhouse with a picket fence and a garage and  _ landscaped gardens _ . Vithia Younes is a comm arts major like Cecil, specializing in sound design. Her parents are ridiculously wealthy bankers, she’s originally from London, and she’s a devout Catholic. That’s about all Dana knows. This is Cecil’s crowd, not hers, although she’s pretty friendly with one of them, a guy named Leland McNally, who frequents Dana’s favorite bar.

People are gathered in Vithia’s living room, talking excitedly. There are the comm arts majors: Vithia herself, Leland, and a TV broadcasting major named Stacey Mercene. There’s also Stacey’s boyfriend, Brad Erhard; and Paolo Ramirez, a lit major Cecil met at L.A. Podfest last year. Cecil’s also there, of course, helping Vithia serve drinks and snacks. 

To Dana’s surprise, Carlos is also here, sitting on one end of the couch, conversing with Brad and not looking out of place at all. Stacey and Vithia are unabashedly checking him out, Dana notes with amusement. Cecil is not oblivious to this, and he subtly pinches Stacey’s wrist when he hands her a mug of coffee. Stacey smirks and winks, and Vithia hides a giggle behind her hand.  

“Yo,” says Dana, waving a hand. 

“Hey Dana,” the crowd choruses. 

“We meet again,” Carlos adds, grinning at her in a way that suggests he has  _ not _ forgotten all about her drunkenly stumbling into his coffee shop at one in the morning, ordering a large black coffee, and then passing out on one of the couches. She vaguely remembers handing her phone to him and muttering, “Call Cecil,” but other than that, the night is a blur. 

“Hi Carlos,” she says, in the most dignified tone she can muster, and goes to sit next to Vithia.

She scowls at Cecil when he sits next to Carlos and snickers. She brings out her cell phone and waves it threateningly, and Cecil gets the message.  _ Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scientific is going to be getting a couple forwarded texts if you don’t shut up. _

Cecil shuts up. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon talking, and brainstorming, and writing down ideas. Carlos actually ends up contributing quite a lot. He brings up  _ Courage the Cowardly Dog _ again and suggests that the radio show’s setting should be a small desert community rather than the Stephen King-esque Maine town that was the original plan. Everyone nods enthusiastically and exclaims in shock when Carlos reveals that Cecil has never seen a single episode, which prompts Carlos to say, “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all under control,” while throwing Cecil a little smile, and fuck Dana blind but she’s going to hit Cecil when they get home because, honestly, how can he  _ not _ see that Carlos is so into him?

They talk characters, and Cecil brings out printed info sheets on the major players. There’s one with a blank space where the name should be, and Cecil explains that it’s for the radio announcer, as he hasn’t decided what name to give him yet.

“Well, duh,” says Stacey, “name him after you. You’ll be voicing him anyway.” Everyone else shouts down Cecil’s protests, and the argument is ended when Dana reachers over, yanks the info sheet out of Cecil’s hands, and scrawls the name  _ Cecil Baldwin _ on the top. 

“Why Baldwin?” Brad asks.

Dana shrugs. “I thought of it the other day. It sounded cool.” She browses through the other info sheets and come across the one with her name on it. “Hey!” she shouts. “Why am I just an intern?”

“We’re all interns, I think,” says Vithia mildly. “Oh hey, cool, I ascend to heaven. Thanks,” she says to Paolo and Leland, who’ve been helping Cecil with writing the scripts. “That’s better than what happens to Stacey anyway.”

“Do  _ all _ the interns die?” asks Carlos, looking over the info sheets that say ‘Intern Leland’ and ‘Intern Stacey’.

“It’s one of the show’s gimmicks. All of them die except Dana,” Cecil explains, “because if I kill off Dana in the show Dana’ll kill me off for real.” To which Dana replies by picking up a nacho chip from the plate Vithia was passing around earlier and throwing it at Cecil’s head.

“But what about the character you’re gonna name after me?” says Carlos with a grin. “Are you gonna let  _ him _ die?” 

“We haven’t even decided if you’re getting a character at all, mister,” Cecil replies with uncharacteristic aplomb--or at least, it seems like aplomb, until Dana spies the telltale blush on the back of his neck.

Dana wonders if she should speak up, inform the room at large of the character info sheet hidden underneath Cecil’s bed that  _ already _ has the name ‘Carlos’ written on top, then decides not to. There’s making fun of Cecil, and then there’s being just plain cruel.

“We still don’t have a name for the town, though!” Stacey suddenly exclaims, and the room explodes into a flurry of conversation, each member of the group shouting out ideas, Paolo writing them down, and then someone vetoing it and suggesting something else.

“Wait, I have an idea!” Dana exclaims. She is  _ such _ a genius, and Cecil is either going to love her forever or summarily disembowel her for this. “Why don’t we call the town  _ Night Vale _ ?” She grins at Carlos. “That’s the name of the coffee shop you work at, right? Night Vale?”

Carlos nods, a smile blooming on his lips, and yeah, okay, Dana can sort of understand why Cecil feels that way about the scientist-slash-barista. Holy  _ hell _ that million-watt smile could melt a girl’s panties. Or a guy’s boxers, as the case is with Cecil. “Yeah, it is.”

“Night Vale,” repeats Vithia slowly. “ _ Niiiiiight Vaaaaale. _ ” She smiles. “It has a ring to it!”

“I’m down with that,” says Leland. Everyone else is nodding, except for Cecil. 

He glances nervously at Carlos and asks, “Are you sure it’s okay? I mean, your boss might not like it.” 

Carlos laughs and shakes his head. “She won’t mind, it’s free publicity. But if it’ll make you feel better,” - and no one in the room misses how, when Carlos says  _ ‘you _ ’, he’s only looking at Cecil - “I’ll get her permission.”

“Okay then,” says Dana loudly, before any eye-fucking can commence. She’s all for those two finally getting a clue and jumping each others’ bones, but not while she’s in the room, thanks. “So, it’s settled then.  _ Night Vale _ it is. No, wait.” She grabs Cecil’s folders, filled with the character descriptions and sample scripts and storylines, and scrawls on the very front page,  _ Welcome to Night Vale _ . “What do you think?”

The whole group bursts into applause.   
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *KOWTOWS FOREVER AND EVER*
> 
> I am beyoooooooooooooooond sorry that this chapter took such a long time. *cries a fjord of tears* I have no excuse other than insane amount of real life work I've had to do over the past two weeks. I hope this chapter makes up for it. I will also definitely, definitely, **definitely** be posting the next chapter in the coming week so the wait won't be too long.
> 
> I'd also like to introduce my new beta, [kittieimp](http://kittleimp.tumblr.com/). Thanks ever so much for all the lovely edits and encouraging words. :) If any of you have got a Tumblr, go follow her!
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr at [The Lights Above Arby's](http://thelightsabovearbys.tumblr.com). Come bother me there!
> 
> (Additional note: Cecil displays some distaste for chemistry subjects in this chapter. Please don't be annoyed with me, possible chem major or chem enthusiast readers out there. I didn't particularly enjoy that class. OTL)
> 
> WIthout further ado, chapter tres!

The next few days pass by fairly quickly. The Night Vale crew (what Dana has taken to calling their merry little band) alternates between Vithia’s house and Cecil and Dana’s. Vithia’s place is bigger, of course, and better stocked in terms of snacks and coffee, but the group can stay later at Cecil and Dana’s, since Vithia’s parents are pretty strict and don’t approve of having company past midnight. 

Unfortunately, Carlos is busy at the coffee shop and hasn’t come over since that first visit at Vithia’s, but he and Cecil definitely have more to talk about now, and Cecil couldn’t be happier.

When Cecil isn’t busy working on  _ Welcome to Night Vale, _ he’s at the actual Night Vale, doing homework and keeping Carlos company. Carlos’s boss, a very nice middle-aged woman named Frances Donaldson, has agreed to let Cecil and his team use the name Night Vale. She doesn’t even ask for payment or anything, other than to occasionally mention the coffee shop at the end of the podcast. This, Cecil is more than happy to do.

As absorbed as he is with getting everything ready for their first day of recording, Cecil doesn’t want to let his grades slip, and he knows he’s been having particular trouble with his gen ed science elective. Cecil is good with words, good at writing and speaking and reading and analyzing subtext and context. He’s not so good with numbers and computations and formulas, and his elective, a class called Principles of Chemistry, is chock-full of them. He’d have preferred a class geared towards biology, but those were the first slots to go, all snapped up by the mathematically-incapable people in Cecil’s major (there’s a reason why they all went for communication arts). So he’s stuck with wretched, wretched,  _ wretched _ chemistry, which is going to ruin his nice 3.0 GPA if he doesn’t pull his grades up.

It’s Wednesday night, and Cecil’s working on - well, he’s not sure what he’s working on, exactly. It involves ions and isotopes, that much he’s sure, but he can’t make head or tail of the stupid worksheet the professor passed out earlier. His shoulders and neck ache, and his eyes hurt, and this is not a feeling he wants to associate with being at Night Vale, with being so near Carlos, but he can’t help it.  

Chemistry  _ sucks _ .

“Hey, Cecil, are you okay?” 

Cecil glances up, and is alarmed when even the sight of perfect Carlos--and, even better, perfect Carlos bringing him a cappuccino - fails to cheer him up. “Not really,” he says glumly, waving a hand in his homework’s direction. “I just can’t get my head around this. It’s too hard.”

Carlos hands Cecil the cappuccino and sits down next to him. “Mind if I take a look?” Cecil wordlessly hands him his notebook and drowns his sorrows in sweet milky caffeinated bliss. He idly thinks that if he can’t have Carlos for his own, he would settle for being in a relationship with his delectable creations. No one can make a cappuccino like Carlos.

_ No one. _

“This is pretty basic stuff,” says Carlos, wrenching Cecil from his train of thought. “I could help you with this, if you want.”

Cecil gapes. “R-really?” he stammers. “You’d do that? For me?” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t possibly - I mean, you’re already helping out with the podcast…”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “Geez, Palmer, haven’t you ever had a friend do you a favor before?” he says. “Besides, I haven’t done much to contribute to the show - which reminds me, I  _ swear _ I’ll be there at the next meeting - ”

“ - you really don’t have to - ”

“ - unless you don’t want me there?”

Cecil nearly chokes on his cappuccino in his haste to reassure Carlos that of _course_ he wants Carlos there, it’s really nice that he’s so willing to help out, and in the back of his mind he’s aware that he’s rambling but he can’t stop himself, the idea that Carlos might think that Cecil doesn’t want him around is practically anathema.

“Look,” says Carlos, when Cecil has finished babbling, “if it makes you feel more comfortable, let’s do a trade. Hang on a minute.” He goes back to the counter, disappears for a while behind the door marked “Staff Only”, then rejoins Cecil and holds out a sheet of paper. “It’s my prelim paper for a sociology class,” he explains. Cecil takes the sheet and quickly scans the topics, zooming in on the one Carlos has encircled in bright red pen.  _ The presentation of sexuality, gender roles, and gender preference in the media, _ it says. Huh. Interesting.

“I’ll help you out with chemistry  _ and _ the podcast, if you’ll help me out with this.” Carlos holds out a hand. “Deal?”

Cecil pauses to wonder how Dana will react ( _ it will probably involve a lot of shrieking, _ he thinks) before shaking Carlos’s hand. “Deal.”

Carlos sits down next to Cecil, and they start on his homework. Occasionally, Cecil steals glances at Carlos as he pages through the chemistry book and notes all the things he has never noticed before: the way Carlos bites his lower lip when he’s thinking, how he taps his pen against the side of the book, the neat rows of numbers he writes which are so different from the messy scrawl he employs when writing words.

Dana’s right. He is  _ such _ a stalker.

Suddenly, his phone buzzes.  _ Speak of the devil, and the devil will come, _ Cecil thinks as he thumbs open Dana’s text.

**_Where are you? I thought we were gonna marathon Game of Thrones tonight!_ **

**_We still are. I’m just at Night Vale. Carlos is helping me with some homework._ **

**_Ooh, he is? Are you gonna pay him back with a blowjob or something?_ **

**_You’re disgusting._ **

**_You can’t tell me the thought didn’t cross your mind, you slut._ **

It did, but that’s not the point.  **_You kiss your mother with that mouth?_ **

**_You’re changing the subject. Whatever. Text me when you get home._ **

“It’s Dana,” Cecil explains at Carlos’s questioning glance. “We’re gonna marathon  _ Game of Thrones _ . She refuses to let me tell her what happens on the  _ Red Wedding  _ episode.”

“If she ends up crying, take pictures.”

It’s a slow night, and they spend the rest of Carlos’s shift hunched over their books. Under Carlos’s guidance Cecil is able to comprehend the previously indecipherable chemical formulas. It’s a lengthy piece of homework though, and by the time they’re done, Carlos’s shift has ended. 

“I’m  _ so _ sorry,” says Cecil as he gathers up his things, “I didn’t mean to take up all your time.” 

Carlos waves off his apologies. “No big,” he says easily. “Here, let me get your number” - he hands his cell phone over and holds out a hand for Cecil’s - “so we can talk about my paper, and you can call me or whatever if you need more help with chem. And anyway I still have to give you those  _ Courage _ episodes.”

“Neat!” says Cecil enthusiastically, and oh how his heart warms when Carlos laughs.

 

“...and then he asked for my number, and I gave it to him, and then  _ he _ gave me  _ his _ number, and oh Dana, I don’t know what to  _ do _ .”

Cecil’s lying curled up on his bed, wrapped in a blanket and nursing a mug of chocolate. Dana’s next to him, her head pillowed on his chest, her eyes and nose red from crying throughout the last half of  _ Red Wedding _ . (Cecil has some choice photos on his phone which he’ll show to Carlos the next time he’s at Night Vale, but he isn’t telling Dana this. He’s rather fond of life and existence in general.)

She’s more or less pulled herself together though, and is analyzing the situation at hand: namely, is Carlos into Cecil, or  _ what? _ They’re of differing opinions. Cecil’s sure that Carlos doesn’t return his affections and is just being friendly. “He called me a friend,” Cecil tells Dana firmly. “‘Haven’t you ever had a friend do you a favor before?’ That’s what he said.”

Dana, on the other hand, is convinced that Carlos has ‘the hots’ for Cecil. “Helping out with the podcast, giving you _Courage_ episodes, exchanging homework help,” she says, counting out each instance on her fingers. “Not to mention picking you up and swinging you around when you ran into his arms like a female lead out of a Regency romance novel.” She snickers. “That is some cheesy Nicholas Sparks bullshit right there, I didn’t know you had it in you Cece.”

Cecil groans. He knew he shouldn’t have told Dana about that.  _ Memo to me: give self stern talking to re: letting Dana know every little thing that happens between me and Carlos. _

“Face it, he’s just looking for excuses to spend time with you.”

“I really don’t think so,” insists Cecil, shaking his head. “Carlos is…” He trails off, wondering what to say, how to explain to Dana that  _ Carlos really is just that nice _ . He’s such a sweet guy, so friendly and helpful, and Cecil just knows that he was one of those secretly smart jocks with a heart of gold in high school, or a handsome lab nerd that everyone including the head cheerleader was secretly crushing on. In the end, he can’t think of anything else to say - or at least, anything that will convince Dana she is wrong (as if Dana ever thinks she’s wrong, she’s practically constitutionally incapable of thinking she could be wrong about  _ anything _ ), so he just changes the subject. “Look, I’ve been hogging all the limelight. Let’s talk about your love life instead. You’re seeing someone new, right?”

Dana rolls her eyes, but allows it. “Yeah,” she says, “a guy from one of my political theory classes. His name’s Steve. He’s something of a conspiracy theorist.” She giggles. “It’s kinda cute.”

“You sleep with him yet?”

“Come on Cece, you know I’m not that kind of girl!” 

“You totally are.”

“Am not!” 

“Says the girl asking if I was going to pay Carlos back for tutoring me in chem with a blowjob.”

Dana snickers. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Maybe I am that kind of girl.” She nods. “Yeah, I spent a few nights at his place. He lives a couple blocks away from the Ralphs. It’s a nice apartment. And he’s not a total slob, unlike  _ some _ people I know.” She casts a significant glance at the pile of laundry and papers sitting on top of Cecil’s desk.

“Don’t give me that, you’re at least twice as messy as I am.” Cecil dodges the light smack Dana aims at his shoulder. “Any nasty details you want to share?”

“I may definitely be the type of girl to put out on the first date, but you know I don’t kiss and tell Cece, come on,” replies Dana mischievously. “You know your virgin ears can’t take it.”

“Honey, these ears haven’t been virgin anything since first grade when Danny Lombard said ‘fuck’ after he broke his new crayons,” retorts Cecil. “Anyway, so how are you guys? I mean, is this going anywhere serious?”

Dana snorts. “Hardly,” she says flippantly. “He’s a nice guy, he really is. But I’m just not ready to settle, you know?” She winks. “I haven’t found my perfect scientist yet. Maybe you’d be willing to share.” Cecil gives her his best ‘fuck off’ eyes and she chuckles and shakes her head. “Kidding aside. Steve’s cool. He  _ gets _ me and even joins in when I start talking politics and religion and philosophy, you know? It’s like when we talk, I feel all stimulated -  _ no, not like that you perv, get your mind out of the gutter _ \- like mentally stimulated. You really have to think on your feet when you’re around him.”

“‘Hardly,’ she says,” scoffs Cecil. “If by ‘hardly’ you mean ‘don’t he make my brown eyes blue’, then yeah, sure.”

“Come on Cece, you know me, I don’t  _ do _ serious,” Dana insists. “Steve’s just...different...from other guys I’ve dated.”

“That’s exactly what people in serious relationships say,” says Cecil mildly. “You planning on introducing your dearest bestest friend in the whole wide world to your one true love anytime soon?” he adds, batting his eyelashes.

“Oh, shut up. Just because he’s a lot smarter than the other shmucks I’ve slept with before doesn’t mean he’s ‘The One’,” Dana retorts, doing her air quotes again. “I certainly don’t feel about him the way Carlos feels about you.”

“Are we back there again?” Cecil groans. “Give it a rest, Dana.”

She laughs and gives up. “Fine, fine,” she says, getting off Cecil’s bed. “But I’m going to enjoy rubbing it in your face when Carlos admits he’s in big mad gay love with you,” she tosses over her shoulder as she heads to her own room. 

Cecil shakes his head. “Fat chance,” he yells at her retreating form. “Fat chance,” he repeats to himself, slowly, sadly, dejectedly, once she’s gone.

 

In her room, away from Cecil’s prying eyes, Dana fires up her laptop and opens Gmail. She quickly types in Leland’s and Paolo’s e-mail addresses, and begins composing a quick message.

_ If you guys are free tomorrow, you think you could meet me for lunch? Bring the script drafts. We have a few minor changes to put into effect... _

 

The night before their first day of recording, Leland calls a meeting to discuss some new additions to the script. While the whole thing was originally Cecil’s idea, he lets Leland and Paolo have free run with the writing since they’re better at it. Cecil is simply the voice on the radio-- _ the voice of Night Vale, _ he thinks, and has to admit that was a stroke of genius on Dana’s part. It may or may not have been another one of her misguided attempts to get them together, but Night Vale is actually a pretty good name.

Today’s meeting takes place at the real Night Vale, during Carlos’s break. It’s bitterly cold outside and everyone’s sure it’ll start snowing soon, so they sit inside. Cecil directs them away from his usual table, tiny and insufficient for a group their size (and a place he has come to think of as exclusively his and Carlos’s, but he is  _ not _ telling Dana this), and towards the larger grouping of couches and armchairs in the middle of the shop. They order a round of coffees, which Carlos delivers to their table. He distributes the drinks then goes to sit on the arm of Cecil’s chair, which makes Cecil incandescently happy.

He firmly ignores the pointed look on Dana’s face.

“So,” says Paolo, in an officious tone, “let’s get down to business.”

“ _ To defeat - the huns! _ ” sing Brad and Stacey, before collapsing into each others’ arms, laughing. Everyone groans and rolls their eyes. 

“You two are perfect for each other,” says Vithia, in a tone that suggests that this is not a compliment.

“ _ Anyway, _ ” continues Paolo, glaring at them all, “the reason Leland and I called this meeting is, we wrote in some changes to the script for the first episode, and we wanted to see what you all think of it.”

“You know how Vithia and Stacey were saying that there should be romantic subplot?” continues Leland. “Well, that’s basically what we wrote in. Just a hint of it for the first episode, to sort of get a feel for how the audience will react. And if the reaction is positive, well, we’ve got more where that came from.” He rifles around in his Star Wars messenger bag and produces a folder of papers, which he passes to Cecil. “Give it a read, then just pass it around so everyone can see it.”

Cecil opens the folder and quickly scans the script. He’s a fast reader, and soon reaches the end of the episode. As he reads on, he can feel a blush climbing up his neck and suffusing his cheeks. Even without looking up he knows, he just  _ knows _ , that Dana’s behind this, and that she has that smug, sadistic little grin on her face. 

They’ve added a character. 

A scientist, whom they have yet to name (and Cecil isn’t fooled by that little footnote, not one bit, they are  _ totally _ going to name him Carlos), comes into Night Vale, ‘the most scientifically interesting community in the U.S.’, and there’s chemistry between him and Cecil Baldwin. In fact, by the end of the first episode, he has unequivocally announced that he is in love with the scientist.

Wordlessly, he passes the folder to the others, who, predictably, squeal and high-five and agree that  _ yes, this is brilliant, we should totally do this! _

Cecil decides, then and there, that he’s going to kill all of them.

“Can I take a look?” Carlos asks, and Cecil freezes in the midst of his violent, murderous thoughts. He’s completely forgotten that Carlos is actually there, will be able to read that script and see his utter humiliation, and he wonders if he can do something drastic like tackle the shit out of Brad before he hands the script to Carlos, but while he’s thinking Brad does exactly this and then it’s too late.

Carlos is reading.

And reading.

And reading.

Christ on toast, his perfect scientist is a slow reader.

Cecil braces himself for Carlos putting the script down and slowly backing away, stammering excuses about needing to get back to work, completely weirded out by this guy who he was just being friendly with being madly in love with him. Because there is no way he won’t arrive at that conclusion. He’s smart, surely he can read between the lines that his idiot, idiot,  _ idiot _ friends wrote in thick glaring red - 

“This is actually pretty good,” says Carlos lightly, handing the folder back to Leland. “You two are really good writers.” 

“We’re the brains behind this whole operation,” declares Paolo proudly. 

Leland snickers. “Yeah, Cecil’s just the hot poster boy,” he says, and high-fives Paolo.

“Asshole.”

“Do you think I could make a suggestion though?” Carlos interrupts. The expression on his face is serious, and the group quiets down.

“So, the Cecil’s character is gonna be gay, right? And the scientist is, too, obviously. I mean, he doesn’t start out as liking Cecil back but he does eventually, right?”

“Yes…” says Paolo slowly. Cecil feels a growing pit of dread in his stomach; it feels like a fist made of ice is closing around the base of his spine. 

Carlos takes a breath. He looks hesitant. “Let’s not - let’s not make them into caricatures of gay people, you know?” he stammers. “Like they weren’t created just to round out a diverse cast of characters or to appeal to a certain demographic. Them being gay shouldn’t the focal point of their characters. This guy’s a scientist, this guy’s a radio broadcaster - it just so  _ happens _ they’re gay. It’s like every other romantic relationship depicted in fiction ever.” He pauses and nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Um...am I making sense?”

There’s a beat of stunned silence before the group reacts. “Right on,” Vithia and Stacey say in unison, raising their fists. Leland and Paolo are nodding rapidly, while Brad begins a slow clap.

Dana is simply beaming. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all PC or whatever on you guys,” says Carlos, blushing lightly, “it’s just - you remember my sociology paper, Cecil? I was doing some reading on the representation of the LGBT community in popular media and, well, it was a bit of an eye-opener.”

“Oh, yes. Your sociology paper,” says Cecil, a little weakly. “We - we should probably get to work on that soon,” he stutters, very nearly overcome with relief and joy. Carlos is not weirded out, he isn’t backing away. He’s still right there, perched on the arm of Cecil’s chair, one leg casually crossed over the other. An embarrassed grin on his lips.

Impossibly beautiful in the winter sunlight.

Carlos smiles down at him. “Yeah, we probably should.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we get a little insight into what or favourite scientist thinks of a certain radio announcer. ;)
> 
> As ever, thanks to the wonderful [kittleimp](http://www.kittleimp.tumblr.com) for her patience and kind comments! She's also here on AO3 as [thecolorofstars](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thecolorofstars/pseuds/thecolorofstars) so go on ahead and check out her stories. (Psst. She has a wonderful Cecil/Steve Carlsberg series that NEEDS TO BE READ ASAP, IT'S AMAZING. Find it here at [I didn't mean to ship this](http://archiveofourown.org/series/53110).)
> 
> And now, to the chapter!

Carlos is in one of the biology labs when the first episode of _Welcome to Night Vale_ goes on air.

He’s working on an experiment measuring and comparing the transpiration rates of different common household plants - a relatively simple task. A row of plants sits on the table. Next to them is his report, waiting to be filled in with measurements of volume and temperatures and times, precise concepts that aren’t difficult to interpret and require no further explanation.

Quite unlike the things Carlos feels for his new friend, the indescribable Cecil Palmer.

Carlos thinks back to their first meeting, almost a month ago now. A dark-haired, dark-skinned impossibly beautiful girl stumbling into the coffee shop, clearly plastered. His irritation with her drunken antics vanishing upon arrival of her roommate. At first, Carlos wasn’t particularly impressed with the newcomer. Of average height and build, angular Asian features, with olive skin and black hair gelled into spikes, Cecil cut an attractive but otherwise unremarkable figure. However, upon getting Dana to her feet, he turned to Carlos and apologized, stunning Carlos into silence with the most startling eyes he had ever seen. They were the sort of blue-gray that looked violet in the right light, and made Carlos think of things like lake surfaces and mirrors and the sky above the Arctic.

Once Cecil had collected his wasted roommate and gone on his way, Carlos thought that would be the end of it. But then the following day, and the day after that, and the day after _that_ , Cecil came back, inexorably worming his way into Carlos’s heart (and wallet, because _someone_ had to pay for all the free cappuccinos he gave Cecil). And Carlos discovers in Cecil a somewhat socially awkward (which is kind of funny, because Carlos privately thinks that anyone that looks as handsome as Cecil does has no business being socially awkward), genuinely funny and interesting guy, who talked an awful lot about indie music and podcasting, liked extra sugar on top of his waffles, and made Carlos feel...well, weird.

 _Weird._ An unquantifiable descriptor. Carlos frowns. Once upon a time he was not so imprecise.

The last time he felt like this hadn’t ended well. He still remembers that night, barely a year ago. His father’s sneering face, his mother’s cold eyes. Their indifference to his pain. People often describe feeling betrayal as a sharp sting, or a punch to the gut. With Carlos it was cold. A freezing hollow that began in his stomach and spread to the rest of his body. And he never wants to feel that bitter cold ever again.

A tiny voice in his mind, one that Carlos suspects was raised in a healthy, happy home with loving, supportive parents, accusingly whispers, “ _Coward_.”

Carlos studiously ignores it.

The lab’s double doors suddenly swing open, jolting Carlos out of dark turn his thoughts have taken. He almost wants to go back in there and hide because, in his thoughts at least, there is no such person as Steven J. Carlsberg.

Steve is smart, almost scarily so, and is in possession of a never-ending supply of useless but interesting factoids. He’s also a mathematics major, a history buff, a vegetarian, an atheist, and a massive conspiracy theorist with an opinion on everything from GMOs to the Occupy Wall Street movement. He’s also Carlos’s best friend.

Like Dana and Cecil, Steve and Carlos went to high school together, and thus, much to the latter’s despair, Steve is inordinately excellent at reading Carlos’s mind, and has absolutely no compunction about calling Carlos out on his bullshit.

“‘Sup,” says Steve, doing the manly nod. “Aren’t you done yet?”

“Almost.”

Steve groans. “Come _on_ ,” he says, throwing himself onto one of the lab stools, “you’ve been sitting around here watching plants sweat for three hours.”

“‘ _Plants sweat_ ,’” Carlos repeats with a disdainful sniff. “How pedestrian of you, Steve.” It’s one of his new favorite insults, learned, naturally, from Steve, who has since moved on to ‘plebeian’ and ‘appallingly mediocre’.

“Ugh, fine. You’ve been sitting around here watching _autotrophs perspire_ for three hours, how’s that?”

“It’s _transpire_ , Steven. Give me just a few minutes.”

“That’s what you said when I texted you an hour ago. I’m _hungry_ ,” Steve whines. “I thought we were gonna go grab lunch?”

“Patience is a virtue, Steven. I’m almost done with this.”

“Oh, spare me. Besides, I thought you said you wanted to introduce me to your little bonbon?”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “Cecil is _not_ my ‘little bonbon’, would you quit calling him that?”

“Oh? So what would you prefer? ‘Sweetie pie’? ‘Cream puff’?” Steve smirks. “I rather like ‘ _mon chou_ ’ myself.”

“Is that what you call Dana?” Carlos asks snidely.

“Excuse me?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “Well, you’re shtupping her, aren’t you?” he asks, as he carefully measures the amount of condensed water collecting on the inside of one of his plant set-ups. “That’s _way_ more than anything Cecil and I have done, at any rate.” Carlos pauses, suddenly aware that the way he phrased that sentence could be construed in a very different manner, and could in fact be taken to mean that he and Cecil have indeed done _something_ and merely have yet to sleep with each other, but thankfully Steve does not pick up on it.

“Oh, God, Carlos, _please_ ,” groans Steve. “You _cannot_ use the word ‘shtupping’ unless you’re an eighty-year-old Jewish woman.” He does a three-sixty on the lab stool, nearly knocking over Carlos’s plants as he does. “Now, _my_ grandmother, she uses the word ‘shtupping’ on a daily basis. She loves to scold dear old dad for ‘shtupping’ a ‘shiksa’, and bemoans the fact that I seem to be following in his footsteps.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “You’ve introduced Dana to your family?”

“Of course not.” The _‘but I plan to’_ hangs in the air, unsaid.

A ping floats out from Steve’s back pocket, breaking the silence. He fishes out his phone, scans the screen, and then grins at Carlos. “Speaking of little bonbons,” he says, and holds out the phone.

 **_First episode of Night Vale is now available for download on iTunes!_ ** say the words on the screen, underneath the name ‘Dana’. **_Brad’s working on making it available on other platforms but for now we’re an officially published podcast!_ **

A moment later, Carlos’s own phone beeps, announcing a text from Cecil. **_We’re on air!!!_ ** says the text, followed by a copious amount of smileys.

Carlos smiles and types back a reply. **_Neat!_ **

“Hey,” he says, turning back to Steve, “have you got your laptop with you or - ”

“Say no more, friend,” says Steve, retrieving a sleek MacBook from his backpack. “Here we go, _Welcome to Night Vale,_ ” he murmurs to himself as he opens up iTunes. “The podcast is free, right? Because I’m not shelling out a dollar ninety-nine for a radio show, not even for your little bonbon.” 

Carlos sighs. There’s just no reasoning with Steve. “Yeah, it’s free.”

Steve starts the download of the first episode, simply called _Pilot_. Minutes later, they’re listening to Cecil’s deep, smooth voice. He finds it mesmerizing, and haunting, and - to Carlos’s embarrassment - just this side of arousing. Although normally not prone to thinking in flowery euphemisms, he finds himself reminded of chocolate liqueur, or claret, or other rich, dark, sinful things.

It’s amazing. He can hardly believe that this is the enthusiastic, awkward, endearing, strangely compelling guy he knows and -

Carlos does not finish that thought, and instead concentrates on Cecil’s voice. “ _A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep…_ ”

 

 

The rest of the Night Vale crew is too busy with school to immediately celebrate the fair success of their first episode, but this doesn’t stop Dana from buying a cheap bottle of wine and inviting Carlos and Steve over to hers and Cecil’s for a celebratory drink and some takeout. Cecil protests loudly, pointing out the messy house and his equally messy appearance and the ton of homework sitting on the kitchen table, but Dana cheerfully ignores him.

Steve and Carlos arrive promptly at eight-thirty. The roar of Carlos’s motorbike quiets to a rumbling purr, followed by silence as Carlos cuts the engine. “Can you get the door?” Dana yells from her bedroom. “I’m taking a dump.”

“You’re disgusting,” Cecil hollers back, before letting their visitors in.

“Hi Cecil,” says Carlos with a grin. On his heels is a tall, gangly man in khakis and combat boots, sporting a five o’clock shadow and a knit beanie over his longish hair. “This is Steve, from the math department. He’s Dana’s - uh - ”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m Dana’s ‘uh’,” he says, shouldering his way past Carlos to vigorously shake Cecil’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Cecil. Heard a lot about you,” he says briskly, rather like a politician.

“You two know each other?”

“Oh, yeah, we went to high school together,” says Steve breezily. “So you gonna let us in, or what?”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” says Cecil uncertainly. He eyes Steve warily, the way someone would an adorable but flea-ridden dog. He seems a bit brash and unruly (and that beanie is utterly horrendous), but Cecil decides to tolerate him for Carlos’ and Dana’s sakes. “Come in.”

“Oh, this is _very_ lovely,” says Steve, throwing himself onto the couch without taking off his boots. Cecil grimaces, but remains silent. “Very nice place. Much better than this chap’s apartment, anyway, it’s a dump,” he adds, tilting his head in Carlos’s direction.

Carlos sighs. “At least wipe your shoes on the mat, Steve,” he says, throwing a wink in Cecil’s direction.

Cecil does _not_ melt, he _doesn’t_.

“Steven, are you being a caveman again?” Dana’s voice floats out to them from upstairs. “Don’t annoy Cecil, please, I’ll be right down.”

“I’m not annoying Cecil!” Steve protests. “I’m not, am I?” he asks, turning to Cecil. But before he can answer, Dana comes downstairs, dressed in a burgundy pencil-cut skirt, knee-high boots, and a black turtleneck. She twirls and bestows all three boys with a blinding smile that none of them are immune to. “How do I look?”

“Very nice,” says Carlos.

“Lovely,” says Cecil.

“Beautiful,” adds Steve, which makes Dana blush.

“What’s the occasion though?” asks Carlos. “I thought we were just having wine and” - he cranes his neck to glance into the kitchen and takes an experimental sniff - ”Thai?”

“Oh, excellent nose Carlos! But anyway, yeah, it’s just wine and Thai food. But Steve and I are going out after dinner. We got tickets to see the midnight showing of _Frozen_ . Completely slipped my mind when I invited you both over, I’m _so_ sorry. But you two can hang around or whatever, I won’t mind.” Dana beams at them, but Cecil knows that behind that benevolent smile, the big brain of a plotting matchmaker is hard at work. He wouldn’t be surprised if, before leaving, Dana whips out a candelabra and cuts the power. Subtlety was never her strongest suit.

He is never telling her anything about his (admittedly nonexistent) love life again.

“So, Carlos,” says Dana, leading the way into the kitchen, where Thai takeaway and four wineglasses filled nearly to the brim are neatly laid out, “what did you think of the podcast?”

“It was _brilliant_ ,” Carlos replies, and Cecil flushes with pleasure. Maybe, he thinks, as Carlos begins to expound on all the reasons he found the first episode of _Welcome to Night Vale_ amazing, he won’t kill Dana just yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, I am _so_ sorry for the intensely late update.
> 
> I'm having a bit of a shitty day at work. Generally I've been made to feel dumb, idiotic, useless, and unobservant. Just got chewed out by the big boss, and I ended up crying in my immediate supervisor's office. And I thought to myself, well, finally getting out that new chapter up will make you feel better. And it did!
> 
> So thank you, all my loyal readers who, I hope, have not despaired of me ever updating. Hahaha. As I said before, writing this is one of my best and most favorite ways of coping with stress in my life. Writing about Carlos and Cecil, writing for _you_ , is like my very own personal source of serotonin. So again, thank you for being that for me. :)
> 
> And, as always, much love to the magnificent [kittleimp](http://kittleimp.tumblr.com) for being a positively fantastic beta! I don't know what I'd do without you. ♥
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at [thelightsabovearbys](http://thelightsabovearbys.tumblr.com) if you want to chat. :) 
> 
> Now, without further ado, chapter cinco!

Cecil finally gets to watch _Courage the Cowardly Dog._

Well, not _all_ of it. There are too many episodes for him and Carlos to finish the whole thing before Steve and Dana get home the movies. However, they did manage to get through a good chunk of the first season and Cecil actually finds himself taking notes. Carlos is right; this show is _really_ good.

That isn’t the highlight of the night, though. Somewhere between the first and second episodes, Carlos leans back on the couch and stretches his arm across the back. Cecil doesn’t take the plunge, merely glancing uncertainly at Carlos out of the corner of his eye. But it doesn’t matter because Carlos rolls his eyes and gestures for Cecil to come closer. “C’mere,” he says. “It’s cold.”

Cecil is very, very proud of himself. Instead of flailing and fainting, as is his first instinct, he smiles shyly and sidles up to Carlos, tucking himself into the warm crook of his arm.

It’s perfect.

Of course, it’s less perfect when Dana and Steve come home from the cinema. Dana, at least, contents herself with a knowing smirk. Steve on the other hand throws himself onto the couch between Cecil and Carlos and begins making obnoxious kissy noises. Cecil gets up, annoyed, and takes another seat. Carlos sighs heavily and pushes Steve away.

“We didn’t interrupt anything, did we?” he asks Carlos cheekily. “I mean, if you two were about to make out, go on right ahead! Don’t let us stop you.” He stands and yanks Dana into his arms. “Dana and I can find somewhere else to get down and dirty, isn’t that right, my sweet?”

“Shut up,” says Dana, smacking Steve on the shoulder, but Cecil notices that she isn’t exactly protesting. They stick around to needle Cecil and Carlos a bit more, but eventually retreat to Dana’s bedroom.

“They’re perfect for each other,” says Carlos, rolling his eyes.

At that moment, a loud, throaty moan echoes through the house, and Cecil and Carlos exchange disgusted grimaces.

“Let’s get out of here,” says Carlos quickly, getting up off the couch and grabbing his jacket. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not gonna stick around for the Steve Carlsberg Sex Special, even if Dana _is_ the sexiest woman I’ve ever set my eyes on.”

Cecil wrinkles his nose. “I’m not sure which part of the sentence grossed me out more,” he replies, following Carlos out the door. “The ‘Steve Carlsberg Sex Special’, or you calling my roommate sexy.”

Carlos shrugs. “I call ‘em as I see ‘em,” he says. “So, where should we wait out the sexathon?”

“Uh…”

“You really don’t wanna be around for the aftermath, trust me,” says Carlos, jabbing a thumb in the house’s direction. “Steve’s prone to walking around in the nude after getting laid.”

At that, Cecil looks faintly sick. “Let’s get out of here.”

Carlos grins and swings a leg over his motorbike, parked at the end of the driveway. “Come on,” he says, handing Cecil his spare helmet. “I know a place we can go.”

“Night Vale?” Cecil asks hopefully.

Carlos snorts. “Nah. I stay the hell away from the place when I’m not on duty.” He smiles. “This is just...somewhere we can hang out? _Without_ Dana going all psychotic on us.”

Cecil smiles back. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

He slips on the helmet and clambers up onto the motorbike, tentatively gripping Carlos’s shoulders for balance. Cecil doesn’t know much about bikes, but Carlos’s is a thing of beauty. It’s a sleek black machine, big and powerful and very, very fast. Cecil won’t lie; riding on that thing, with the engine purring between his legs,

It’s a good thing the bike is big enough that Cecil isn’t pressed _all_ the way against Carlos.

Carlos eventually pulls up outside a gated park, with a sign that reads _Community Dog Park. Open 9AM-10PM._ Cecil eyes the sign nervously as he gets off the bike and hands his helmet back to Carlos. “Are we allowed in there?” he asks. “It’s way past midnight.”

“No big,” Carlos replies. “There aren’t groundskeepers or anything. People haven’t been taking their dogs here in ages. Dunno why though.”

Cecil grins. “Kinda like the dog park from _Welcome to Night Vale_?”

Carlos looks at him consideringly, then nods. “Yeah, actually. Kinda like that. Have you ever been here before?”

“No. Stacey may have, though. She’s the one who suggested that bit of the script.”

Carlos smirks. “You do realize she probably came here to make out with Brad, right?”

Cecil then surprises himself by leaning forward and batting his eyelashes. “Why, Carlos, have you taken me here to make out with me?”

He’s marveling at his brazenness, and inwardly cheers when Carlos’s cheeks flush a dainty rose. Cecil adds the image to his mental repository of anything and everything Carlos, right between the smile Carlos wore when they met for the first time and the exact position of Carlos’s hands the first time he offered Cecil a free cappuccino.

“Haha, very funny,” says Carlos dryly. “Come on, let’s go inside.” He wrestles for a minute with the rusted gate, and it soon gives way. “After you,” he says, ushering Cecil inside.

The dog park is dark and overgrown and hauntingly beautiful. There’s a cobbled footpath that leads from the gate deep into the shadows cast by the trees. The only source of light are the moon above, and Carlos’s cell phone which he’s using as a flashlight. Cecil can’t help the shiver that crawls up his spine.

“You cold?” Carlos asks.

Cecil shakes his head. “No, no.” He grins abashedly. “Just a little creeped out.”

Carlos laughs. “Yeah, this place looks pretty sketchy. But I promise, it’s safe. I don’t know why, but no one ever hangs out here. Except for Stacey and Brad, I suppose. I guess not many people know about this place. Ah, wait.” He pulls aside several fallen branches and gestures grandly. “ _Et voila_.”

It’s a playground. An old and dilapidated one. The slides and seesaws and swingsets are rusty and covered in climbing vines, but there is a smooth wooden bench - clearly meant for parents or caregivers - at the opposite end. “I come here often,” Carlos explains, “whenever I need to think. My place isn’t all that far from here, actually.”

“Cool. I’d love to see your place sometime.” Cecil almost claps a hand over his mouth, because hey, that was really forward, but his panic is assuaged by Carlos’s answering smile.

“Yeah, you should come over someday. We can continue our _Courage_ marathon. _Without_ being interrupted by our oversexed best friends,” Carlos adds sourly.

“So, do _you_ know what’s going on with them? Like, are they dating or what?”

Carlos shrugs. “I really don’t know. Steve’s more of a ‘wham bam thank you ma’am’ kinda guy?” He laughs at the appalled look on Cecil’s face. “I’m sorry, that was really crass. But yeah, Steve doesn’t really do serious relationships. In fact, Dana’s the only girl I’ve ever seen him with for longer than a week.”

“Dana’s had a couple serious relationships before,” Cecil replies. “She always insists that she’s not serious about Steve but - well - ” He shrugs. “None of her old relationships are anything like what she has with him.”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “Those two are so oblivious.”

Cecil almost expects Dana to appear out of nowhere, rushing at them from the trees and screeching about the pot calling the kettle black. This, of course, does not happen.

“What is Steve’s deal anyway?” he asks, sounding just the tiniest bit petulant. “It’s like he was raised in a barn or something.”

Carlos barks out a laugh. “He practically was,” he says. “Steve comes from a big family. Like a _really_ big family. He’s got nine brothers and sisters, plus his mom and dad have several siblings too, so he’s got about a billion cousins. So if he’s a little, um, loud? And crazy for his conspiracy theories? Well, there was no other way to be noticed in a household of twelve people.”

“Oh, I see,” replies Cecil. “What about you? What’s your family like?”

Carlos frowns slightly, and Cecil’s afraid he may have stumbled onto a taboo topic. “Unless you’re not on good terms with them or something,” he hastens to add, “in which case, feel free to tell me to mind my own business. I know I can be too nosy for my own good.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” says Carlos, waving off Cecil’s apologies. “It’s just, well, we aren’t exactly close.” There’s more to it than that, but Cecil doesn’t want to pry. The look on Carlos’s face scares him, he realizes. It’s grim and forbidding and speaks of a dark place in Carlos’s mind, and Cecil doesn’t want him spending anymore time in there.

“That’s a shame, I’m pretty close with mine,” says Cecil, in a blind attempt at yanking Carlos out of his thoughts.

It works. “Oh yeah?” says Carlos, smiling slightly. “Tell me.”

“I’m adopted,” Cecil begins. “All of us are, actually. Me and my sisters. Our parents couldn’t have biological kids. There’s three of us. Megan is seventeen and Tamika is thirteen. We’re actually really close,” Cecil adds with a smile.

“That sounds nice.”

“Oh, it is. People are often weirded out by the fact that we’re siblings because all of us look so different. So growing up it was very ‘us against the world’, you know? I mean, eventually we opened up and got different interests and made different friends, but we pretty much only had each other to rely on when we were younger. So we’re still really close.” Cecil smiles, one part sad and one part fond. He realizes how much he misses his sisters, and resolves to call them the following morning. “They’re good kids. We’re very open about stuff at home. Mom and Dad don’t believe in keeping stuff from family. Like this one time, when Megan was eleven, she had some friends over and they stole a pack of cigarettes from Mom and tried smoking them in Megan’s room. And when Mom found out she didn’t get mad at them for smoking, she got mad because they stole and lied to her, not because they wanted to smoke. Stuff like that.”

Carlos laughs. “So did Megan like smoking?”

Cecil rolls his eyes. “She gave it up after a day.”

Cecil continues prattling on about his family, making sure to talk only about the funny and endearing moments in their lives, of which there are plenty. Carlos interjects often, and, when he remarks that he’d love to meet Cecil’s family, Cecil is ecstatic. It’s one of the best nights of his life: he and Carlos, alone together on a park bench under the moonlight, but also the most intriguing. As much as he has fallen for Carlos, has devoted many a waking thought to him, Cecil doesn’t know much about his past. The bleak look on his face makes Cecil want to know. He wants to know so he can make damn well sure that that look never crosses Carlos’s perfect countenance ever again

 

 

A couple of episodes into the show, and _Welcome to Night Vale_ is declared an official success.

The subscriptions come mostly from the student body, but little by little news of the podcast spreads and their audience diversifies. Stacey proposes that if it gets popular enough, they could actually start making money off of Night Vale, but at once Cecil vetoes charging for downloading the podcast. Paolo suggests selling merchandise, an idea which everyone approves of. To Cecil’s chagrin, Dana asks Steve, who is a surprisingly good artist, to draw up designs for t-shirts.

(Cecil _still_ doesn’t know quite what to make of Steven J. Carlsberg. He’s crass, arrogant, and a bit of a snob. Not to mention he subscribes to some frankly ridiculous conspiracy theories. Cecil honestly has no idea how he and perfect, perfect Carlos could be best friends. But he makes Dana happy, so for now, Cecil reserves judgment.)

At any rate, Vithia decides that their little pet project’s success warrants a party. Fortuitously enough, Mr. and Mrs. Younes are gone for the weekend on a business trip. Texts go out to the rest of the Night Vale crew, dates, friends, and various and sundry partygoers.

Vithia’s party is on a Friday night, when Carlos doesn’t have work. With much poking and prodding from Dana, Cecil finally bites the bullet and texts him an invitation.

“You are _so_ pathetic,” says Dana, as Cecil tosses hides his phone under a pillow, screws up his face, and plugs his ears with his fingers. But she looks as though she herself is on tenterhooks, so Cecil decides to let that one slide.

Exactly eighteen seconds pass before Cecil’s phone beeps.

Both he and Dana dive for it, but Dana is faster. Her fingers close around the phone, she darts out of Cecil’s reach, and reads the text. “He said _yes_!” she screeches triumphantly as Cecil finally manages to reclaim his phone. He rolls his eyes and glances down at Carlos’s reply, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

**_Sounds cool. :) Meet you there at 8?_ **

This response does _nothing_ to calm Cecil’s pulse. If anything, it feels like his heart is beating faster.

The night of the party comes, and Cecil is pacing back and forth in front of his mirror. For nearly an hour he frantically dug through his clothes, looking for something to wear. Just as he was about to give up, Dana appeared at his shoulder and calmly assembled an outfit out of the jumbled mess in Cecil’s closet, which she laid out on the bed before manhandling Cecil into the bathroom and forcing him to take a shower.

There are times when he’s sure that Dana Marshall is the most annoying woman on the planet; but there are also times when Cecil is so grateful for her existence he could just kiss her.

Cecil stops pacing and scrutinizes his reflection. Dana has put him in black jeans and a navy cardigan over a blue plaid shirt. His hair has been artfully gelled into stylish spikes. He’s shaved and has put on cologne. He looks good, he knows, but will Carlos think so?

“I can hear you doubting me!” Dana yells from her bedroom. “That’s a capital offense, Cece.” She strides majestically into Cecil’s bedroom, and he does a double-take when he sees her. Dana is already beautiful on ordinary days, so when she actually makes an effort to look nice, it’s an amazing sight to behold. She’s dressed in a fur vest over a black silk blouse tucked into red corduroys, which accentuate her long, long legs. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail. “How do I look?” she asks, spreading her arms.

“Amazing,” Cecil replies honestly.

“Then stop doubting my work!” she says, stamping her foot. “You look gorgeous.” She straightens Cecil’s cardigan, steps back, and gives him a once-over that manages to make him feel both flattered and harassed. “I would totally do you if you weren’t so crazy for the scientist,” she adds, matter-of-factly.

“Dana!”

“Whatever.”

They take Cecil’s car to the party, which means, regrettably, that Cecil cannot get drunk. He complains about this quite loudly the whole way to Vithia’s house, until Dana points out Carlos’s bike parked on the sidewalk between two SUVs. Cecil, overcome by nerves, promptly shuts up.

The place is already jam-packed. An Avicii party mix is blasting out of the state-of-the-art speakers. A game of girls versus boys beer pong has been set up on the porch, Stacey leading the former and Brad the latter. The living room has been cleared of all furniture (Cecil pauses to wonder where Vithia has stowed the couches and end-tables), allowing people to freely writhe and gyrate against each other. Somehow, Vithia has managed to rig the ceilings with strobe lights and a disco ball. There’s a drinks table in the corner manned by Leland. Paolo is passing around a tray of shots that are a violently green color, which several scantily clad girls from from Dana’s political science classes are gamely imbibing. Vithia, cup of beer in hand, is flirting with a frat boy in a baseball t-shirt.

But Cecil does not see Carlos anywhere.

“Come on, I think I see them,” Dana yells over the pounding music, before flitting off.

By the time Cecil has caught up to her, she’s already chatting up the irksome Steve Carlsberg, who, Cecil is displeased to note, actually cleans up pretty well.

“Hey there, Cecil,” Steve says placidly. “Good to see you.” The annoying smirk playing on his lips tells Cecil that Steve knows the feeling is most definitely _not_ mutual.

“Steve,” says Cecil, nodding politely.

“Here.” Steve hands Cecil the red plastic cup he’s holding, filled to the brim with beer. “It’s Carlos’s. He went to take a piss.” And with that, he takes Dana’s hand and they both disappear into the crowd.

Cecil snorts. Those two are definitely made for each other, he thinks as he takes a sip of Carlos’s beer. Neither of them would know the meaning of the word ‘subtle’ if it danced into their bedroom wearing an ugly Christmas sweater.

“Hey, Cecil!”

Cecil turns and finds himself looking up at Carlos, who, as per usual, looks utterly perfect tonight. Sleek and slim in black from head to toe. Cecil desperately wants to kiss him. Instead, he smiles and hands Carlos his beer.

“Thanks,” says Carlos. “You look nice.”

Cecil blushes. “You too.”

“Where’d Steve and Dana go?”

“They went to dance. I think.”

Carlos smirks. “You wanna bet that’s all they’re gonna do?”

Cecil is sure his face has turned the same shade of green as Paolo’s shots. “No thanks.”

Carlos laughs and slings an arm around Cecil’s shoulders. “Come on,” he says. “It’s quieter out back. We can just drink and talk or whatever.”

Blissfully, Cecil follows.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, you're all gonna kill me. *hides*

The back porch is pretty devoid of partygoers, who have all congregated on Vithia’s front lawn and in her living room. Cecil makes himself comfortable on the creaky wooden porch swing while Carlos goes to get him a drink. He comes back with two plastic cups filled with strange frothy pink concoctions. “What is  _ that _ ?” asks Cecil, eyeing the drinks warily.

Carlos shrugs. “Vithia mixed it,” he says, settling on the porch swing beside Cecil. “It smells like strawberries.” The disgusted look on Cecil’s face prompts a laugh. “Come on,” Carlos wheedles. “It doesn’t taste that bad, I promise.”

Cecil relents and takes a sip of the cocktail. “Tequila Rose,” he says, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You were right. Not bad.” 

“You gotta learn to trust me, Palmer.” Carlos winks.

_ I could say the same for you, _ Cecil wants to say, thinking back to that night in the Dog Park. He’s confident enough to say that he and Carlos are now friends, and he wishes that Carlos would confide in him. Not because he wants the privilege of being Carlos’s confidante, but because he honestly never wants to see that dark, haunted look on that beautiful face.

“I thought this was just gonna be a Night Vale crew thing,” says Carlos, gesturing at the crowd inside the house. “Looks like Vithia invited half of the school.”

“She probably did,” Cecil replies with a laugh. “Vithia’s always been popular, and Dana and Leland love a good party. It’s hard to say no to them.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Carlos leans back and loops an arm around Cecil’s shoulders. It’s happened enough by now that Cecil no longer contemplates dying of spontaneous combustion, but the action still sends a thrill down his spine. “So, how’d you all get together? I mean, I know you and Dana are roommates. But how’d you get everyone else onboard?”

A frisson of warmth goes through Cecil at the question. Even if Carlos never reciprocates his feelings, he, at least, seems genuinely curious and interested in Cecil’s work. “Well, Vithia and I got chosen to be a part of the delegation the university sent to a broadcasting seminar upstate back in our freshman year,” he explains, “and we were pretty fascinated with the talk on podcasting. So we started making notes and drafts for a podcast of our own. I got Dana interested and Vithia brought in Stacey and Leland, and Stacey told Brad. Now Paolo, I met last year at another podcasting event in L.A. And when I found out that we went to the same school, and that he had some experience in scriptwriting, I asked him if he wanted in. And he did.”

Carlos whistles, impressed. “Wow. You sure get around.” Then, suddenly, he blushes. “I didn’t mean that in a perverted way, I swear.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Cecil pats Carlos’s thigh comfortingly. “Considering who my roommate is, I’m actually pretty desensitized to perverted humor.” 

Carlos pauses, and then laughs. “Dana really is something, isn’t she?” he says. 

“She is  _ the _ unstoppable force, my friend.” 

“So would Steve be the immoveable object in this equation?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Cecil rolls his eyes. “They’re wedding bells waiting to happen.” He goes to take a sip of his drink, and notices with some surprise that he’s already finished it. “I’m out,” he says, waggling the cup at Carlos. The ice cubes rattle in the empty cup.

“Huh.” Carlos glances down at his own drink. “So am I. Do you want another one?”

“Something a little less pink, please.”

Carlos grins. “Be right back.”

A couple minutes pass. Some stragglers begin to drift outside, including two girls who begin making out by the sliding glass doors. Cecil coughs awkwardly, trying to discreetly inform the amorous pair of his presence, but they are either too drunk or too horny (possibly both) to pay any attention. They finally clear off when Carlos comes back, wielding two icy-cold beer bottles.

“Get a room,” Carlos scolds the girls as they scurry away, giggling.

The party has spilled out onto the back porch as well, which Cecil actually doesn’t mind. The noise prevents any awkward silences, and he and Carlos just enjoy watching the others make drunken fools out of themselves. A mixed group of guys and girls have started up a game of King’s Rule, and Cecil leans forward to watch. There’s the standard ‘so-and-so have to make out’ orders, and Cecil begins to wonder if he can finagle it so he and Carlos have to kiss when Dana suddenly stumbles out onto the porch and hollers, “Who wants to play FUBAR?”

“I’ll play!” Stacey volunteers, following Dana through the sliding glass doors. “Brad and Steve too,” she adds, seemingly scooping the two boys out of thin air, both of whom are clutching cans of PBR and sharing long-suffering looks.

“Great,” says Dana. She glances around, her gaze alighting on Carlos and Cecil, and for a moment, her face is lit with unholy glee. “Come on you two,” she says, pointing imperiously at them. “Join the game.”

“Nah, we’re fine here,” demurs Carlos, but Stacey and Dana shout down his protests, and Steve gives him a very respectable evil eye.  _ If I have to do this, _ his face says,  _ so do you. _

“I didn’t invite you just to sit on my porch swing and make moon eyes at each other!” Vithia calls. She’s with the King’s Rule group, brandishing the King of Spades as all around her, the rest of the players are spraying one another with whipped cream. Leland, Cecil notes, seems very enthusiastic, spraying the whipped cream deep into the valley between his partner’s breasts. For her part, she rather seems to be enjoying the attention.

“What did you make them do?” asks Carlos, eyeing them worriedly.

“Lick whipped cream from each other’s bodies,” says Vithia with a wicked laugh.

Carlos and Cecil exchange a look, then hurry to join Dana’s FUBAR game.

 

Several drinks into the FUBAR game, and Cecil is  _ wasted _ .

They have yet to finish off the deck, and there’s still about twenty cards left on the table. Cecil’s leaning heavily against Carlos, who looks calm and steady, although there is a glazed sheen to his eyes that tells Cecil he may be slightly tipsy. Steve, on the other hand, looks just as drunk as Cecil - his ever-present beanie is gone, his hair is mussed, and he’s slowly swaying from side to side. Stacey keeps giggling and spilling her drink. Dana and Brad seem to be the only ones who are still sober, judging by the identical smug smirks on their faces.

“My turn!” proclaims Brad. He draws a card and reveals the King of Hearts. “Waterfall,” he gleefully crows, grabbing a glass of beer and downing half of it in one go.

“I hate this game,” grumbles Steve, as he drinks enough beer to surpass Brad. 

“Tough shit, sweetie,” chirps Dana, sipping daintily from her beer like the Queen of England.

Cecil’s the last to go. He gives a little burp, then reaches out to take his beer with trembling fingers. Before he can take the glass, a warm hand cups around his. Cecil looks up and is, for a moment, legitimately afraid that his heart will stop beating, because it’s Carlos that has taken his hand. Slinging an arm around his shoulders and returning a joyful, impromptu hug is one thing;  _ holding his hand _ is another. 

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks, looking greatly worried.

“I’m fine,” insists Cecil, although he might be slurring a bit. Just a bit. 

“No, you’re not,” says Carlos sternly, and Cecil blushes at the concern in his tone.

“Yeah Cecil, you don’t look so good,” murmurs Stacey, punctuating her sentence with a hiccup. Brad sighs and goes to get her some water, which she downs with good humor. 

“Look, can he skip this round?” Carlos asks Dana. “He might actually puke.”

“Of course,” says Dana immediately. “Do you wanna stop, Cece?” she asks.

Cecil looks up at Dana, blinking rapidly when he realizes there’s two of her. “Maybe I should,” he mumbles, getting to his feet. “Keep playing, keep playing,” he says, flapping a hand at the group as he stumbles away. “Gonna go find a bathroom.”

“Are you gonna - ”

“I just need to pee!” 

Vithia gives him directions to the guest bathroom under the stairs, which, Cecil discovers, is already occupied by a girl vomiting into the toilet, another girl holding her hair back and making soothing noises. “Gross,” Cecil mutters under his breath. He backpedals out of the bathroom, only to bump into something solid and warm.

“You okay?” Carlos asks, slowly turning Cecil to face him.

Cecil whimpers and collapses into Carlos’s arms. He’s dizzy, and his insides are all warm while his skin is ice-cold. “I think I need some fresh air,” he moans.

“Oh, geez, you don’t look so good Cece,” says Carlos, placing a hand on Cecil’s forehead. “Do you wanna go home?”

“Can’t,” mutters Cecil. “In no condition to drive.”

“I could bring you home if you want.”

“Don’t wanna leave Dana.”

“Oh, right.” Carlos bites his lip, clearly deep in thought. Cecil imagines this is what Carlos looks like during a lecture - no, in the lab, while performing an experiment, brow furrowed as he scrutinizes his data. It’s an absolutely adorable look on him. 

Cecil takes a moment to collect himself. “Look, I’m just gonna go for a bit of a walk,” he says, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the front door. “Clear my head. It’s a safe neighborhood.” He gently pushes Carlos back in the direction of the party. “You should go back to the game. Wouldn’t want you to miss any of the fun.” 

Carlos rolls his eyes. “If you think I can have fun when I know you’re all by yourself and drunk to boot, you’ve got another think coming,” he tells Cecil, as he helps him to the stairs. “Besides, I’ve had enough of FUBAR. Another waterfall and Stacey’s gonna pass out.”

“Oh.” Cecil frowns, worried. “I hope she’s okay.”

“She’ll be fine. Brad’s got her.” 

They thread their way through the increasing number of partygoers and make their way outside. Luckily enough, Vithia’s place is in one of those neighborhoods where there’s a considerable amount of space around each house, so the loud music and flashing lights have yet to draw the ire of any of her neighbors. 

For a while, both Cecil and Carlos are silent, content to meander down the street, the noise of the party fading away. A few times, the backs of their hands brush against each other. Cecil can almost feel his knuckles prickling, the spot where Carlos’s skin has touched his warm and tingly. He wonders if Carlos is trying to hold his hand again.

As they walk, Cecil ponders on whatever it is between him and Carlos. They’ve progressed far beyond what Cecil envisioned. Back when they first met, Cecil hoped for nothing more than getting the occasional chance to talk. Now, they’re friends.  _ Close  _ friends, even. But with all that’s happened lately, Cecil can’t help but wonder. He’s never even allowed himself to think of the possibility that Carlos might be interested in something...more.

“Cecil?”

Cecil looks up and guiltily flushes. “Yes?” he asks, ready to deny any accusations of handholding, should they come.

But no. Carlos isn’t even looking at him. Instead, his eyes are on the ground, and he looks strangely sad. 

“Carlos?” Cecil says, putting a hand on his shoulder.  They’ve stopped walking, and are at quite some distance from Vithia’s house. The nearest streetlamp is several yards away, and they are hidden by the shadow of a massive tree growing in someone’s front yard. They are, for all intents and purposes, alone.

“I just wanted to apologize,” Carlos finally says. “For my, you know - back at the Dog Park. Clamming up about my family. I know you were worried.”

“Well, yeah, I was,” Cecil admits. “But hey, if you don’t wanna talk about it, I completely understand.”

“It’s just - like I said, we don’t get along,” continues Carlos. “Back in high school, I was in this relationship that my parents didn’t approve of. We fought about it a lot. I tried really hard to make them see that I was happy, but…” He shrugs. “I guess it didn’t matter all that much to them.”

Cecil could have cried. His perfect, beautiful Carlos, made miserable by his own parents. Unable to understand why they wouldn’t allow him to be happy. Screw his nervousness. Cecil allows himself a moment of hesitation, then he takes Carlos’s hand in his own. “For what it’s worth,” he says, softly, “I’m really sorry.”

Carlos smiles at him, a tiny thing of half measures that is nothing like the full-blown, joyous grins that Cecil knows are Carlos’s true smiles. “Come on, Cecil,” he says softly. “Whatever you have to say is worth a lot to me.”

Later on, Cecil will swear it was the alcohol that lowered his inhibitions. The ambience of the night that provided a boost of courage. The fact that they are sequestered in the dark, unseen. The sheer, utter  _ sweetness _ of Carlos’s words.

As easily as breathing, Cecil kisses him.

It’s glorious, the way their lips meet, like they were made to fit each other. Their mouths move, fast and desperate, in no way gentle until Carlos’s hands slide up Cecil’s arms, fingers cupping his face, thumbs lightly touching his cheekbones. Cecil clings to Carlos like he’s the last port in a storm, like he never wants to let go. He’s imagined this moment a million times, he’s committed to memory every aspect of Carlos, every angle and plane and facet of this beautiful man. But this, he never knew. The taste of beer in Carlos’s mouth, the warm and wet and scintillating sweep of his tongue. The sensation of his hands all over Cecil’s body. He thinks of butterflies, of fireflies alighting on his skin and zapping him with infinitesimal flashes of lightning.

And then, as suddenly as it started, it’s all over. Carlos lets go of Cecil and steps back, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. “I - I’m sorry,” he stammers. “That wasn’t - I’m sorry,” he says again before taking off, leaving Cecil cold and bereft on the sidewalk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flees*


	7. IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

Hi guys! Please don't kill me for running off for almost two years. I'm really sorry.

Some personal issues came up. More or less the gist of is, I wasted two years of my life on a venture that did not pan out well. Not gonna lie - I'm hurting real bad. So I've retreated to my cave to lick my wounds, so to speak.

Part of my healing process is going to be revamping my Tumblr and all my writings, including this story. I've been going over the whole thing and finding plot points I'd like to flesh out or remove all together. I've also been reviewing my old notes for all my fanfic and I'm finding a lot of things I'd like to change or improve on. Since this is my only ongoing story, it'll start with this.

For any old readers, I do hope you'll accept my most heartfelt apologies. I really didn't mean to leave this story hanging. But life got in the way, and things kind of got out of hand. But now I'm back, emotionally battered but a lot wiser, and ready to start healing by working on what I do best - writing.

For new readers, welcome. Thanks for stopping by.

I can't thank all of you enough for the support you've given _Courage and Cappuccinos_ while I was actively writing. I know it can't have been easy checking and rechecking to see if I've updated and then losing hope. Again, I really am sorry. But I'm back now, and I'm gonna be working through what happened to me by throwing myself into writing. I hope you'll take this journey with me and continue to show my fics the same support and constructive criticism you always have. I love you all!

Stay tuned for some new stuff for _Courage and Cappuccinos_ , coming soon!

xxx  
thelightsabovearbys / intrikeyt

**ETA:**

For those who want to read a longer explanation of why I've been gone, please check out [this post](http://thelightsabovearbys.tumblr.com/post/139521391976/how-i-wasted-two-years-of-life) on my Tumblr.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO, IT'S ME! I'M BACK!!!
> 
> To all my new readers, welcome. To old readers, welcome back! I've missed all of you, and I've missed this story _so much_.
> 
> Now, before we get started, you should all know that the last WTNV episode I listened to was like way back in April 2015, so I am _super_ behind. I'm still working on catching up so I can go back to writing proper canon fanfic, but I figure this one's pretty safe since it's an AU anyway. 
> 
> If you've read my author's note before this, then you'll know that the reason I was away for so long was some personal stuff, and I'm back now because said personal stuff did not work out and I've turned back to writing to lick my wounds. (Check out [this post](http://thelightsabovearbys.tumblr.com/post/139521391976/how-i-wasted-two-years-of-life) on my tumblr if you'd like a lengthier explanation of why I was gone.
> 
> I'm so excited to be active again here! To all the readers, old and new, who've kept checking this page hoping to see an update, I really, really apologize. And as a gesture of my good will, please have Chapter 8 of _Courage and Cappuccinos_ which has been languishing in my Google Drive for so long.

Steve’s kissing Dana all over, on her lips and forehead and cheeks, her neck and shoulders and arms and hands. It’s driving her crazy. She wants to skip the preliminaries, just rip off her and Steve’s clothes and go to town. But Steve is going slow, _maddeningly_ slow, and, judging by the smug grin on his face as he traces the hollow of her throat with his tongue, he’s enjoying her frustration.

Before she can pull him up to kiss her, her phone rings, obnoxiously burbling Lady Gaga’s ‘Donatella’ up at her. Steve laughs and fishes the phone from her back pocket, sneaking a quick grope as he does. “It’s Cecil,” he says, surprised, handing the phone to Dana.

“I’m gonna kill him,” she promises as she answers the phone. “Hello, Cecil?”

“Dana, where are you?”

Instantly, Dana’s arousal is gone, doused by the trembling whimper in Cecil’s voice. She lost track of where Cecil was after he’d gone to the bathroom, but she assumed that Carlos would take care of him. Evidently not. “Cece, honey? I’m with Steve. What’s wrong?”

“I - I…” Cecil trails off, gulps breath audibly. He sounds like he’s swallowing back tears. “I’m outside. Half a block away.”

“ _What?_ Why? Where’s Carlos?” Dana begins rearranging her clothing, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder. To his everlasting credit, Steve does not protest or question her actions. He merely smooths down his hair and follows Dana out of the closet they’ve holed up in.

“He had to leave,” says Cecil quietly, and Dana does not care if Carlos is easily the handsomest guy she’s ever known and that she’s spent weeks trying to get him and Cecil together, she’s going to beat the tar out of him for making Cecil sound that way.

“Stay put, Cece. Steve and I are coming to get you,” she says into the phone. “Don’t move, okay? Stay where you are. Sit on the sidewalk or something. And stay on the line.”

“Okay,” Cecil sniffles.

“What’s wrong with Cecil?” asks Steve as Dana leads the way outside.

“He’s drunk and he’s crying, and your _best friend_ left him alone half a block away,” spits Dana angrily, covering the phone’s mouthpiece so Cecil doesn’t hear.

“Hey, if you’re looking for Carlos, he took off a couple minutes ago,” Leland calls out to them from the living room, where he and some guys are doing jello shots. “Ran through here like his pants were on fire, said goodbye to Vithia, and then hauled ass.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Dana repeats threateningly, obviously no longer referring to Cecil. Uncharacteristically, Steve remains silent although he, too, looks grim.

They finally locate Cecil, morosely sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk. He’s no longer crying, but his eyes and the tip of his nose are red. “Oh, sweetie,” says Dana softly, her heart positively breaking at the sight. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“I ruined everything,” says Cecil, as Steve and Dana wrestle him to his feet. “We were getting along just fine. And I had to go mess it all up.”

“Oh, Cece, whatever you did, I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad - ”

“Yeah, Carlos is a cool guy,” Steve chimes in. “He won’t hold it against you. Whatever ‘it’ is.”

“You don’t understand. I kissed him,” Cecil moans. Steve and Dana exchange surprised glances over his head. They both knew Cecil had it bad for Carlos, but they didn’t expect him to be so forward as to actually _kiss_ him. “I kissed him, and he isn’t interested in me. I’ve ruined everything.”

“Oh boy,” Steve mutters to himself. Dana shoots him a questioning glance, but ignores him in favor of helping Cecil into the backseat of his car.

“Sleep it off, sweetie. We’ll bring you home,” she says, planting a soft kiss on Cecil’s forehead. He nods, curls up on the upholstery, and closes his eyes.

“We can all crash at my place if you want,” Steve offers. “It’s nearer anyway.”

Dana nods shortly. “What is Carlos’s problem anyway?” she hisses as she starts the car. “Okay, if he isn’t interested and got thrown off by Cecil kissing him - fine. But that was _no_ reason to leave him out in the cold like that. What if Cecil fell asleep on the sidewalk and got hypothermia?”

“Look, Dana, I’m sorry,” says Steve placatingly. “Carlos has got - issues, I suppose you could say. I know that’s no excuse,” he adds hastily, seeing Dana’s eyes narrow dangerously. “All I’m saying is, don’t be in such a rush to rip him a new one. I’ll talk to him, I promise.”

“You better,” says Dana darkly, the venom in her eyes promising fiery death.

She glances at Cecil’s reflection in the rearview mirror. He’s curled up into a ball, fast asleep, his face pinched with misery. Her heart clenches, and all she can think is, _Oh Cecil, I am so sorry._

 

 

When Cecil wakes the following morning, his head is throbbing, and the light that spills in through the gauzy curtains feel like knives stabbing him in the eyeballs. He groans and brings a hand to his forehead, cursing his past self for thinking that back-and-forthing between beer and liquor was a good idea.

“Good morning, Cecil. Fancy some breakfast?”

Cecil squints up and sees Steve standing over him, wielding a frying pan filled with scrambled eggs.

“Where am I?” Cecil mutters, looking around. He’s in a fairly small living room, sparsely furnished, but what flat surfaces there are are entirely covered with books. The topics run the gamut from Marx’s _Das Kapital_ to a handful of tattered James Patterson novels.

“Steve’s apartment,” a voice from behind announces. Cecil sits up and sees Dana sauntering in from what must be Steve’s bedroom. She’s in a lovely lavender silk bathrobe that contrasts well against her dark skin, and Cecil tries very hard not to wonder if she’s naked underneath. “You got really wasted at Vithia’s party, so we brought you home with us.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Cecil blushes, wondering if he’d said anything incriminating in Steve’s presence. He’s intensely uncomfortable with the idea of being indebted to _him_ , of all people, but he’s not an ingrate, so he looks up at Steve and says, in a tight, cautious voice, “Thank you.”

“No big. Would you like some breakfast.” Steve indicates the eggs, which actually look pretty good. “They’re good organic eggs from hens that weren’t fed GMO grain feed - ”

“ _O_ -kay, Steven, that’s enough,” says Dana, taking the frying pan from him with a stern glance. “Cecil doesn’t need your organic food lecture first thing in the morning.”

“What time is it anyway?” Cecil asks, stifling a yawn.

“Not too late, it’s only ten-thirty. Come on, let’s eat. I’ve got class in two hours.”

Steve gives Dana a disapproving look as he ushers them into his kitchen (which, Cecil notes, is actually just a small stove and a card table separated from the living room by a rattan screen). “You have a Saturday class and you went to Vithia’s party anyway?”

“Don’t give me that crap, Steve, I couldn’t miss the party of the year, now could I?” Dana asks, planting a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Besides, I can just grab a cup of coffee at - ” She suddenly cuts herself off, glancing quickly at Cecil, and he just _knows_ she was about to say Night Vale, that she and Steve know what happened last night, and suddenly Cecil has the burning need to get out of there, go home, and cry.

Unfortunately, Dana knows him far too well, because she scoops a ridiculous amount of eggs onto his plate and says, “Eat your breakfast,” in a commanding tone of voice.

Cecil does. The eggs are actually quite good. Steve also serves them orange juice - ”Also organic,” he cheerfully proclaims - and gluten-free bagels he bought from the corner bakery. For all that he seems to be coarse and boorish, Steve, at least, knows how to make a mean meal.

“That was good Steve, thanks,” Cecil says grudgingly.

Steve looks at him, with no trace of teasing whatsoever. “You’re welcome,” he says.

“Look, I gotta get going,” says Cecil, getting up from the table. “Vithia and I are gonna check out shirt printing shops for the Night Vale merch. Canvas for a good price and all that. I still have to pick her up.” There was no such outing planned, but Cecil wants to get out of there. Go home and work on a new episode of _Welcome to Night Vale._ Anything to take his mind off of what happened last night.

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. When did you say you needed those designs?” Dana asks. “Steve’s got a couple on hand if you need something to show the shop owners.”

“Uh, yeah. That’d be great.”

“Let me go get them.” Dana picks up her mug of tea and skedaddles. It’s a flimsy, see-through plot to get Steve and Cecil alone, but Cecil allows it and sits back down. At the very least, he can ask if Carlos got home okay.

“Listen, Cecil,” Steve begins, “I’m really, really sorry about Carlos leaving you last night. That was a real dick move.”

There’s a moment when Cecil is legitimately afraid that his eyebrows will actually literally disappear into his hairline.

“I’m not excusing his behavior,” continues Steve, oblivious to Cecil’s shock. “All I’m saying is, don’t write him off as a completely lost cause, okay?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cecil replies.

Steve rolls his eyes. “We all know you’re crazy in love with Carlos, okay,” he says. “As if that podcast of yours doesn’t make it obvious enough.”

“That was Leland and Paolo and Dana’s idea,” Cecil protests.

“Yeah, whatever. Look, point is, Carlos isn’t exactly a poster boy for well-adjusted and self-accepting. Cut him some slack, please?” Steve asks. “He’d kill me if he knew I was telling you any of this, if that helps any.”

“It really doesn’t,” says Cecil flatly.

“I’ll talk to him. I promise. But you should, too. It’d be a shame otherwise.” Steve shrugs nonchalantly. “Maybe ask him about that paper he still has to do? You promised you’d help him with it,” he adds slyly.

Cecil bites back a groan. There go his plans for avoiding Carlos for the rest of his life. He can’t in good conscience take back his offer of help, even after the disastrous events of last night, after Carlos has so gamely helped him with his chemistry homework.

“Here are those drawings, Cece,” says Dana, waltzing back into the kitchen. She hands Cecil a sheaf of sketches with a benign smile.

“You win this round,” he says accusingly, grabbing the folder and holding it close to his chest, like it’ll protect him from Steve and Dana’s matchmaking.

“Look, Cecil,” says Dana softly, steering Cecil towards the front door so they’re out of Steve’s earshot, “you know I’m always the first one in, last one out when it comes to you. Last night I was ready to hunt Carlos down and give him a black eye for leaving you out in the cold like that. And I’m not saying that you should forgive him just like that. But...talk to him, yeah? For me?” She pats his cheek softly and gives him a soft smile. “You’re good for each other. I’d hate to see that go to waste.”

 

 

When Steve gets to Carlos’s place, the lights are all off and Carlos is passed out on the couch, dressed in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt. It’s also near freezing, as Carlos apparently hasn’t bothered to turn on the heating.

With a deep sigh, Steve turns on the heating, retrieves a blanket from Steve’s bedroom, and spreads it over his unconscious friend. It takes some time to collect Carlos’s discarded clothes and put them away, and pick out warmer, clean clothing from the closet. By the time Carlos wakes up, Steve’s making coffee.

“G’morning, sunshine,” Steve calls out, pouring the coffee into Carlos’s favorite Albert Einstein mug. “Go brush your teeth and take a shower. I left clean clothes for you on the bed.”

“Whatymizzit?” Carlos mumbles.

“Just past noon, Sleeping Beauty.” Steve rummages in the fridge and finds a loaf of bread and some highly questionable butter. “Scientists,” he mutters to himself, before tossing the butter in the trash.

Carlos is in and out of the shower in ten minutes, bathed, teeth brushed, and dressed in jeans and a sweater. He pads over to the kitchen table where Steve has laid out a breakfast of plain toast and black coffee. “If you don’t start buying proper groceries,” Steve threatens, dropping into the seat across from Carlos, “I’m going to do your shopping for you.”

“What are you gonna do, fill my pantry with non-wheat products?” Carlos asks snidely.

Steve narrows his eyes. “Yes,” he hisses.

Carlos rolls his eyes. “You know less than 1% of the American population actually has celiac disease, right?” he asks.

“Gluten is bad for you!”

“Whatever Steve, I’m not in the mood for this lecture.”

Steve couldn’t have asked for a better opening. “I hear you were in the mood for something else last night,” he says, affecting a casual tone.

Carlos freezes, and it’s kind of funny because his coffee mug is halfway to his mouth and Albert Einstein’s hair lines up perfectly with Carlos’s upper lip, making it look as though he’s got an out-of-control mustache. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carlos replies, with as much dignity as he can muster.

“Don’t be such a pussy, Carlos,” Steve advises, then winces. The last time he used a sexist insult, Dana withheld sex for a week. He hopes she never finds out, although she’s got that scary sixth sense that makes it nigh on impossible to get up to shenanigans in her presence. “What exactly happened between you and Cecil last night?”

Carlos groans and covers his face with his hands. “He kissed me,” he says, then turns a bright red. 

“And…?” Steve resists the urge to smirk at Carlos. For all that the situation is pretty serious, Carlos is strangely adorable when he blushes.

“And I kissed back.”

“So this is terrible, how?” Steve asks. “Did you not ‘like’ like him?” He hooks his fingers in air quotes. “Cecil’s cute - not my type certainly, but cute all the same. You guys get along great. What’s not to like?”

Carlos’s face darkens. “You know why I can’t do this again, Steven,” he says, his voice low and threatening.

“You gonna spend your whole life letting your demons do the talking?” Steve asks mockingly. He knows he’s pushing it, but there’s a reason he’s Carlos’s best friend. No one else is going to find the courage to tell Carlos what he needs to hear. That’s Steve’s job.

Uncharacteristically, Carlos doesn’t reply. And that’s when Steve knows that this has hurt Carlos real bad. Neither of them likes not getting the last word, which has led to some pretty explosive arguments over the years. But when Carlos gets like this, quiet and subdued, Steve knows that Carlos has gone, once more, to that dark, dark place in his mind.

Steve clenches his fist and mentally curses Carlos’s parents. _Unfeeling assholes_ , he thinks viciously. Not for the first time in their long, long friendship, Steve wonders how two of the most hateful people he’s ever met could have produced such a warm, friendly, sweet son.

“I never took you for a coward, Carlos,” says Steve quietly, looking him straight in the eye. “Are they going to dictate how the rest of your life goes? Is your happiness always the price to be paid to keep your family together?”

Carlos pushes back from the table and leaps to his feet, jostling the table and sending the plate of toast crashing to the ground. “ _You don’t understand!_ ” he hisses. “You and Cecil and Dana - none of you - you would never understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand, Carlos?” Steve asks mildly, ignoring the broken plate and the toast on the floor. “Help me understand. I want to help you.”

“If I don’t have them,” Carlos says brokenly, “who do I have? There’s no one else. I can’t...” He trails off and slumps back down into his seat, resolutely avoiding Steve’s gaze. “They’re my  _parents_ ,” he says quietly, like it explains everything. And in some weird, twisted way, it kind of does.

Steve sighs. “Look,” he says, “at least talk to the guy, okay? Even if this” - he waves a hand to indicate Carlos’s disheveled state - thing goes no further. Cecil’s a good friend to have.”

Carlos scowls. “He doesn’t even like you,” he says petulantly.

“What, so now you’re only gonna befriend people who like me?” Steve raises an eyebrow. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re only ever gonna be friends with Dana if you keep that up.”

Unable to help himself, Carlos chokes back a snort of laughter. Steve counts it a success.

“Talk to Cecil,” he says, getting to his feet. “Or Dana’ll have _both_ our heads.”

“She already has one of yours, though - ”

“I will fill your apartment with gluten-free bagels, Herrera, don’t you think I won’t.”


End file.
